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GIFT  OF 
A.?.   Morrison 


J  O   J    > 
50    J  5 


5  i  5   5 

)  5   )    > 


KoBERT  Burns. 


THE 


COMPLETE    POETICAL    WORKS 


OF 


ROBERT   BURNS 


WITH    BIOGRAPHICAL   INTRODUCTION,    NOTES 
AND   GLOSSARY 


"  The  simple  Bard,  unbroke  by  rules  of  Art, 
He  pours  the  wild  effusions  of  the  heart ; 
And  if  inspir'd,  't  is  Nature's  pow'rs  inspire, 
Hers  all  the  melting  thrill,  and  hers  the  kindling  fire." 

On  title-page  of  Kilmarnock  Edition,  1786. 


NEW   YORK 

THOMAS   Y.    CROWELL   &   CO. 

PUBLISHERS 


1/ 


GIFT  OF 
/7. /^    /^»  ^«/^oO 


I      c  « 

(       ft 


Copyright,  1900, 
By  THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  CO. 


CONTENTS 


Page 

Biographical  Sketch xi 

Published  at  Kilmarnock,  1786:  — 

The  Twa  Dogs I 

Scotch  Drink 4 

The   Author's    Earnest    Cry    and 

Prayer 7 

The  Holy  Fair 10 

Address  to  the  Dell 13 

The  Death  and  Dying  Words  of 

Poor  Mailie 15 

Poor  Mailie's  Elegy 16 

Epistle  to  James  Smith     ....  17 

A  Dream 20 

The  Vision 22 

Halloween 28 

The    Auld    Farmer's    New    Year 

Morning  Salutation  to  his  Auld 

Mare,  Maggie 31 

The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night     .     .  33 

To  a  Mouse 37 

Epistle  to  Davie,  a  Brother  Poet    .  38 

The  Lament 40 

Despondency 42 

~~  Man  was  made  to  Mourn ....  43 

Winter 44 

A  Prayer  in  the  Prospect  of  Death  45 

To  a  Mountain  Daisy 45 

To  Ruin 46 

Epistle  to  a  Young  Friend     ...  47 

On  a  Scotch  Bard 48 

A  Dedication  to  Gavin  Hamilton, 

Esq 49 

To  a  Louse 51 

"    Epistle  to  J.  Lapraik 52 

Second  Epistle  to  J.  Lapraik     .     .  54 

To  William  Simpson  of  Ochiltree,  56 

Epistle  to  John  Rankine   ....  59 

Song  :  Tune,  '  Corn  Rigs  "...  60 

Composed  in  August      .     .  61 

From  thee  Eliza     .  _,_  .    .  62 


M103474 


Page 

The  Farewell 62 

Epitaph  on  a  Henpecked  Squire   .  63 

Epigram  on  Said  Occasion   ...  63 

Another 63 

Epitaph :  On  a  Celebrated  Ruling 

Elder 63 

On  a  Noisy  Polemic  .    .  63 

On  Wee  Johnie     ...  63 

For  the  Author's  Father,  64 
For       Robert       Aiken, 

Esq 64 

For    Gavin     Hamilton, 

Esq 64 

A  Bard's 64 

Added  in  1787:  — 

Death  and  Doctor  Hornbook    .    .  65 

The  Brigs  of  Ayr 68 

The  Ordination 73 

The  Calf 75 

Address  to  the  Unco  Guid     ...  75 

Tam  Samson's  Elegy 76 

A  Winter  Night 78 

Stanzas  in  Prospect  of  Death    .    .  80 

Prayer :  O  thou  Dread  Power  .  .  80 
Paraphrase  of  the  First  Psalm  .  .81 
Prayer     under     the     Pressure     of 

Violent  Anguish 81 

Ninetieth  Psalm  Versified      ...  82 

To  Miss  Logan 82 

Address  to  a  Haggis 83 

Address  to  Edinburgh 83 

Song :  John  Barleycorn     ....  85 
A  Fragment :   W^hen  Guil- 
ford Good 86 

My  Nanie,  O 87 

Green  grow  the  Rashes,  O,  88 

Composed  in  Spring  ...  88 
The     Gloomy     Night      is 

gathering  fast      ....  89 

No  Churchman  am  I      .    .  89 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
Added  in  1793:  — 

Written  in  Friars  Carse  Hermi- 
tage       91 

Ode    sacred   to  the   Memory  of 

Mrs.  Oswald 91 

Elegy  on  Captain  Matthew  Hen- 
derson       92 

Lament  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  .  94 
To  Robert  Graham  of  Fintry,  Esq.  95 
Lament  for  James,  Earl  of  Glen- 
cairn   0 „     .  97 

Lines  to  Sir   John  Whitefoord, 

Bart 98 

Tarn  O'Shanter 99 

On  seeing  a  Wounded  Hare    .    .  102 
Address  to  the  Shade  of  Thomson,  103 
On  the  Late  Captain  Grose's  Pere- 
grinations thro'  Scotland .    .    .  103 
To  Miss  Cruickshank      ....  104 

Song:  Anna 105 

On  the  Death  of  John  M'Leod, 

Esq 105 

The  Humble   Petition   of  Bruar 

Water 105 

On  scaring  Some  Water-fowl  in 

Loch  Turit 107 

Verses  written  with  a  Pencil  at 

Taymouth 107 

Lines  on  the  Fall  of  Fyers  .    .    .  108 
On  the  Birth  of  a   Posthumous 

Child 108 

The  Whistle 109 

The  Jolly  Beggars  :  a  Cantata  .  iii 
Satires  and  Verses 
The  Twa  Herds:   or,  the   Holy 

Tulyie 117 

Holy  Willie's  Prayer 119 

The  Kirk's  Alarm 120 

A  Poet's  Welcome  to  his  Love- 
begotten  Daughter 123 

The  Inventory 124 

A  Mauchline  Wedding    ....  125 

Adam  Armour's  Prayer  ....  126 

The  Court  of  Equity 126 

Nature's  Law 128 

Lines  on  meeting  with  Lord  Daer,  129 
Address  to  the  Toothache    .     .     .  129 
Lament  for  the  Absence  of  Will- 
iam Creech 130 

/erses  in  Friars  Carse  Hermitage,  131 


Page 

Elegy  on  the  Departed  Year  1788,  132 

Castle  Gordon     .......  132 

On  the  Duchess  of  Gordon's  Reel 

Dancing 133 

On  Captain  Grose 133 

New  Year's  Day,  1791      ....  134 

From  Esopus  to  Maria    ....  135 

Notes  and  Epistles 

To  John  Rankine 136 

To  John  Goldie 137 

To  J.  Lapraik  :  Third  Epistle       .  138 

To  the  Rev.  John  M'Math  .     .  139 

To  Davie  :  Second  Epistle  .     .     ,  140 

To  John  Kennedy 141 

To  Gavin  Hamilton,  Esq.     .     .     .  142 
To    Mr.    M'Adam    of    Craigen- 

Gillan 142 

Reply  to  an  Invitation     ....  143 

To  Dr.  Mackenzie 143 

To  John  Kennedy:  a  Farewell    .  143 

To  Willie  Chalmers'  Sweetheart  .  144 

To  an  Old  Sweetheart     ....  144 

Extempore  to  Gavin  Hamilton     .  145 
Reply  to  a  Trimming  Epistle  from 

a  Tailor 146 

To  Major  Logan 147 

To  the   Guidwife  of  Wauchope 

House 148 

To  Wm.  Tytler,  Esq.,  of  Wood- 

houselee 149 

To  Mr.  Renton  of  Lamerton    .     .  150 

To  Miss  Isabella  Macleod  .     .     .  15a 

To  Symon  Gray 151 

To  Miss  Ferrier 151 

Sylvander  to  Clarinda     ....  152 
To  Clarinda  with  a  Pair  of  Wine- 

Glasses 152 

To  Hugh  Parker 153 

To  Alex.  Cunningham     ....  153 

To  Robert  Graham,  Esq.,  of  Fintry,  154 

Impromptu  to  Captain  Riddell     .  156 
Reply  to   a   Note   from    Captain 

Riddell 156 

To  James  Tennant  of  Glenconner,  156 

To  John  M'Murdo 157 

Sonnet  to  Robert  Graham,  Esq., 

of  Fintry 158 

To  Dr.  Biacklock 158 

To  a  Gentleman  who  had  sent  a 

Newspaper 159 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

To  Peter  Stuart i6o 

To  John  Maxwell,  Esq.,  of  Ter- 

raughtie i6o 

To  William  Stewart i6i 

inscription   to  Miss   Graham    of 

Fintry i6i 

Remorseful  Apology i6i 

To  Collector  Mitchell i6i 

To  Colonel  De  Peyster    ....  162 

To  Miss  Jessie  Lewars    ....  163 

Inscription  to  Chloris 163 

Theatrical  Pieces 
Prologue  spoken  by  Mr.  Woods,     164 
Prologue  spoken  at  the  Theatre 

of  Dumfries 165 

Scots    Prologue  for  Mrs.  Suther- 
land      166 

The  Rights  of  Woman    ....     167 
Address   spoken  by  Miss  Fonte- 
nelle 168 

Political  Pieces 

Address  of  Beelzebub 169 

Birthday  Ode  for  31st  December, 

1787 170 

Ode  to  the  Departed  Regency  Bill,     171 
A  New  Psalm  for  the  Chapel  of 

Kilmarnock 172 

Inscribed  to  the  Right  Hon.  C.  J. 

Fox 173 

On    Glenriddell's    Fox    breaking 

his  Chain 174 

On  the  Commemoration  of  Rod- 
ney's Victory 175 

Ode    for    General   Washington's 

Birthday 175 

The  FSte  Champetre 177 

The  Five  Carlins 178 

Election  Ballad  for  Westerha' .     .     179 
Turn-coat  Whigs  awa,  Man     .     .     180 
Election  Ballad  addressed  to  Rob- 
ert Graham,  Esq.,  of  Fintry  .     .     180 
Ballads  on  Mr.  Heron's  Election, 

1795: 

Ballad  First 183 

Ballad  Second  :  the  Election     .  184 
Ballad   Third :    John   Bushby's 

Lamentation 185 

Ballad  Fourth  :  the  Trogger     .  186 

The  Dean  of  the  Faculty     .    .    .  187 


Page 

Miscellanies 

The  Tarbolton  Lasses      ....  188 

The  Ronalds  of  the  Bennals     .     .  189 

I'll  go  and  be  a  Sodger    ....  190 

Apostrophe  to  Fergusson     .     .     .  190 

The  Belles  of  Mauchline      .     .     .  190 

Ah,  Woe  is  me,  my  Mother  Dear  .  191 
Inscribed  on  a  Work  of  Hannah 

More's 191 

Lines  written  on  a  Bank  Note .    .  191 

The  Farewell *     .  192 

Elegy   on  the   Death   of  Robert 

Ruisseaux 192 

Verses  intended  to  be  written  be- 
low a  Noble  Earl's  Picture    .     .  192 
Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Sir  James 

Hunter  Blair 193 

On  the  Death  of  Lord  President 

Dundas 194 

Elegy  on  Willie  Nicol's  Mare  .     .  195 

Lines  on  Fergusson 195 

Elegy  on  the  late  Miss  Burnet  of 

Monboddo 196 

Pegasus  at  Wanlockhead     .     .     .  196 
On    Some    Commemorations    of 

Thomson 197 

On  General  Dumourier's  Deser- 
tion       197 

On  John  M'Murdo 198 

On   hearing  a  Thrush  sing  in  a 

Morning  Walk  in  January    .     .  198 
Impromptu     on     Mrs.    Riddell's 

Birthday 198 

Sonnet  on  the  Death  of  Robert 

Riddell  of  Glenriddell  ....  199 

A  Sonnet  upon  Sonnets  ....  199 

Grizzel  Grimme  ...         ...  199 

Fragvients 

Tragic  Fragment 201 

Remorse 201 

Rusticity's  Ungainly  Form  .     .     .  202 

On  William  Creech 202 

On  William  Smellie 202 

Sketch  for  an  Elegy 202 

Passion's  Cry 203 

In  vain  would  Prudence  ....  204 

The  Cares  o'  Love 204 


Epigrams 
Extempore  in  the  Court  of  Session, 


204 


vi 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

At  RosHn  Inn 204 

To  an  Artist 205 

The  Book-worms 205 

On   Elphinstone's  Translation  of 

Martial 205 

On  Johnson's  Opinion  of  Hamp- 
den        205 

Under  the  Portrait  of  Miss  Burns  .  205 

On  Miss  Ainslie  in  Church  .    .    .  205 

At  Inveraray 205 

At  Carron  Ironworks 206 

On  seeing  the  Royal  Palace  at 

Stirling  in  Ruins 206 

Additional  Lines  at  Stirling      .     .  206 
Reply  to  the  Threat  of  a  Censori- 
ous Critic 206 

A  Highland  Welcome     ....  206 

At  Whigham's  Inn,  Sanquhar.     .  207 

Veisicles  on  Sign-posts    ....  207 

On  Miss  Jean  Scott 207 

On  Captain  Francis  Grose       .    .  207 
On  being  appointed  to  an  Excise 

Division 207 

On  Miss  Davies 208 

On  a  Beautiful  Country  Seat    .     .  208 

The  Tyrant  Wife 208 

At  Brownhill  Inn 208 

The  Toadeater 208 

In  Lamington  Kirk 208 

The  Keekin  Glass 209 

At  the  Globe  Tavern,  Dumfries    .  209 

Ye  True  Loyal  Natives    ....  209 

On  Commissary  Goldie's  Brains  .  209 

In  a  I^ady's  Pocket-book     .     .     .  210 

Against  the  Earl  of  Galloway  .    .  210 

On  the  Same 210 

On  the  Same 210 

On  the  Same,  on  the  Author  being 

threatened  with  Vengeance  .    .  210 

On  the  Laird  of  Laggan  ....  210 

On  Maria  Riddell    ......  210 

On  Miss  Fontenelle 210 

Kirk  and  State  Excisemen  ...  211 
On  Thanksgiving  for  a  National 

Victory 211 

Pinned  to  Mrs.  Walter  Riddell's 

Carriage 211 

To  Dr.  Maxwell 211 

To    the     Beautiful    Miss     Eliza 

J n 211 

On  Chloris 211 


Page 
To  the  Hon.  Wm.  R.  Maule  of 

Panmure 212 

On  seeing  Mrs.  Kemble  in  Yarico,  212 

On  Dr.  Babington's  Looks  .     .     .  212 

On  Andrew  Turner 212 

The   Solemn  League  and  Cove- 
nant       212 

To  John  Syme  of  Ryedale  .    .    .  212 

On  a  Goblet 212 

Apology  to  John  Syme    .         „    .  213 

On  Mr.  James  Gracie      .    ^    .    .  213 

At  Friars  Carse  Hermitage  .     .     .  213 

For  an  Altar  of  Independence  .     .  213 

Versicles  to  Jessie  Lewars   .    .    .  213 

On  Marriage 214 

Graces 

A  Poet's  Grace 214 

At  the  Globe  Tavern 214 

Epitaphs 

On  James  Grieve,  Laird  of  Bog- 
head, Tarbolton 215 

On  Wm.  Muir  in  Tarbolton  Mill .  215 

On  John  Rankine 215 

On  Tam  the  Chapman    ....  215 

On  Holy  Willie 215 

On  John  Dove 216 

On  a  Wag  in  Mauchline      .    .    .  216 

On  Robert  Fergusson       ....  216 

Additional  Stanzas  on  Fergusson,  216 

For  William  Nicol 217 

For  Mr.  William  Michie      .     .     .  217 

For  William  Cruickshank,  A.M.  .  217 

On  Robert  Muir 217 

On  a  Lap-dog 217 

Monody  on    a   Lady  famed  for 

.    her  Caprice 217 

For  Mr.  Walter  Riddell  ....  218 

On  a  Noted  Coxcomb     ....  218 

On  Capt.  Lascelles 218 

On  a  Galloway  Laird 219 

On  Wm.  Graham  of  Mossknowe,  219 
On    John    Bushby     of    Tinwald 

Downs     . 219 

On  a  Suicide 219 

On  a  Swearing  Coxcomb     .    .    .  219 
On  an  Innkeeper  nicknamed '  The 

Marquis ' 219 

On  Grizzel  Grimme 219 

For  Gabriel  Richardson      ,    .    .  220 

On  the  Author 220 


CONTENTS. 


vii 


Page 

Songs  from  Johnson's  "  Musical 
Museum  "  and  Thomson's  "  Scot- 
tish Airs": — 

Young  Peggy     .........  221 

Bonie  Dundee 221 

To  the  Weaver's  gin  ye  Go    .     .     .     .  222 

Whistle  an'  I  '11  come  to  ye,  my  Lad  .  222 

I  'm  o'er  Young  to  marry  yet ....  223 

The  Birks  of  Aberfeldie     .....  223 

M'Pherson's  Farewell 224 

My  Highland  Lassie,  O     .....  224 

Tho'  Cruel  Fate 225 

Stay  my  Charmer 225 

Strathallan's  Lament 225 

My  Hoggie 226 

Jumpin  John 226 

Up  in  the  Morning  Early 226 

The  Young  Highland  Rover  ....  227 

The  Dusty  Miller 227 

I  dream'd  I  Lay 227 

Duncan  Davison 228 

Theniel  Menzies*  Bonie  Mary     .     .     .  228 

Lady  Onlie,  Honest  Lucky     ,     .     .     .  228 

The  Banks  of  the  Devon 229 

Duncan  Gray  (first  set)      .....  229 

The  Ploughman 230 

Landlady,  Count  the  Lawin   ....  230 

Raving  Winds  around  her  Blowing    .  230 

How  Lang  and  Dreary  is  the  Night    .  231 

Musing  on  the  Roaring  Ocean   .     .     .  231 

Blythe  was  she 231 

To  daunton  me c     .  232 

O'er  the  Water  to  Charlie 232 

A  Rose-bud,  by  my  Early  Walk      .     .  233 

And  I  '11  kiss  thee  yet 233 

Rattlin,  Roarin  Willie 234 

Where,      braving      Angry     Winter's 

Storms 234 

0  Tibbie,  I  hae  seen  the  Day  .  .  .  234 
Clarinda,  Mistress  of  my  Soul  ,  .  .  235 
The  Winter  it  is  Past 235 

1  love  my  Love  in  Secret 236 

Sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar 236 

Highland  Harry 237 

The  Tailor  fell  thro'  the  Bed  ....  237 

Ay  Waukin  O  .     .     , 238 

Beware  o'  Bonie  Ann     ......  238 

Laddie,  lie  near  me 238 

The  Gard'ner  wi'  his  Paidle   ....  239 

On  a  Bank  of  Flowers 239 

The  Day  Returns ,  239 


Page 

My  Love,  she 's  but  a  Lassie  yet     .    .  240 

Jamie,  come  try  me 240 

The  Silver  Tassie 241 

The  Lazy  Mist .  241 

The  Captain's  Lady 241 

Of  a'  the  Airts .  242 

Carl,  an  the  King  Come 242 

Whistle  o'er  the  Lave  o  't 242 

O,  were  I  on  Parnassus  Hill  ....  243 

The  Captive  Ribband 243 

There 's  a  Youth  in  this  City  ....  243 

My  Heart 's  in  the  Highlands     .     .     .  244 

John  Anderson  my  Jo  .....     .  244 

Awa,  Whigs,  awa 245 

Ca'   the  Yowes  to  the  Knowes   (first 

set) 245 

O,  Merry  hae  I  Been 246 

A  Mother's  Lament 246 

The  White  Cockade 246 

The  Braes  o'  Ballochmyle 247 

The  Rantin  Dog,  the  Daddie  o  't    .     .  247 

Thou  Ling'ring  Star 247 

Eppie  Adair 248 

The  Battle  of  Sherramuir 248 

Young  Jockie  was  the  Blythest  Lad     .  249 

A  Waukrife  Minnie 250 

Tho'  Women's  Minds 250 

Willie  brew'd  a  Peck  o'  Maut    .     .     .  251 

Killiecrankie 251 

The  Blue-eyed  Lassie    , 252 

The  Banks  of  Nith 252 

Tam  Glen 252 

Craigieburn  Wood 253 

Frae  the  Friends  and  Land  I  Love     .  253 

0  John,  come  kiss  me  now    ....  254 

Cock  up  your  Beaver 254 

My  Tocher 's  the  Jewel 254 

Guidwife,  Count  the  Lawin  ....  255 
There  '11    never  be    Peace   till  Jamie 

comes  Hame 255 

What  can  a  Young  Lassie      ....  256 

The  Bonie  Lad  that's  far  awa     .     .     .  256 

1  do  confess  thou  art  sae  Fair  .  .  .  257 
Sensibility  how  Charming  ....  257 
Yon  Wild  Mossy  Mountains  ....  257 

I  hae  been  at  Crookieden 258 

It  is  na,  Jean,  thy  Bonie  Face     .     .     .  258 

My  Eppie  MacNab 259 

Wha  is  that  at  my  Bower  Door .     .     .  259 

Bonie  Wee  Thing 259 

The  Tither  Mom 260 


vm 


CX3NTENTS. 


Page 

Ae  Fond  Kiss 260 

Lovely  Davies 261 

The  Weary  Pund  o'  Tow 261 

I  hae  a  Wife  o'  my  ain  ......  262 

When  she  cam  ben,  she  bobbed     .     .  262 

O,  for  Ane-and-twenty,  Tam  »     .     .     „  262 

O,  Kenmure  's  on  and  awa,  Willie  .     .  263 

O,  leeze  me  on  my  Spinnin-wheel  .     .  263 

My  Collier  Laddie 264 

Nithsdale's  Welcome  Hame  ....  264 

In  Simmer  when  the  Hay  was  Mawn  .  265 

Fair  Eliza o     .     .  265 

Ye  Jacobites  by  Name 266 

The  Posie 266 

"The  Banks  o'  Doon  ...»,..  267 

Willie  Wastle 267 

Lady  Mary  Ann 268 

Such  a  Parcel  of  Rogues  in  a  Nation  .  269 

Kellyburn  Braes    ........  269 

The  Slave's  Lament 271 

The  Song  of  Death 271 

Sweet  Afton 271 

Bonie  Bell 272 

The  Gallant  Weaver 272 

Hey,  ca'  thro' 273 

O,  can  ye  labour  lea 273 

The  Deuk  's  dang  o'er  my  Daddie      .  274 

She 's  Fair  and  Fause 274 

The  Deil  's  awa  wi'  th'  Exciseman .     .  274 

The  Lovely  Lass  of  Inverness    .     .     .  275 

A  Red,  Red  Rose 275 

As  I  stood  by  Yon  Roofless  Tower     .  275 

O,  an  ye  were  dead,  Guidman    .    .    .  276 

Auld  Lang  Syne 277 

Louis,  what  reck  I  by  thee     ....  277 

Had  I  the  Wyte  ? 277 

Comin  thro'  the  Rye 278 

Young  Jamie 278 

Out  over  the  Forth 279 

Wantonness  for  evermair 279 

Charlie  he  's  my  Darling 279 

The  Lass  o'  Ecclefechan 280 

The  Cooper  o'  Cuddy 280 

For  the  Sake  o'  Somebody     ....  280 

The  Cardino't 281 

There  *s  Three  True  Guid  Fellows  .    .  281 

Sae  Flaxen  were  her  Ringlets     .     .     .  281 

The  Lass  that  made  the  Bed .     .     =     .  282 

Sae  far  awa 283 

The  Reel  o'  Stumpie 283 

I  '11  ay  ca'  in  by  Yon  Tovirn     ,    ,    .    ,  283 


Phil- 


O,  wat  ye  wha  's  in  Yon  Town 
Wherefore    Sighing    art   thou, 

lis? 

O  May,  thy  Morn 

As  I  came  o'er  the  Cairney  Mount 

Highland  Laddie 

Wilt  thou  be  my  Dearie 

Lovely  Polly  Stewart „ 

The  Highland  Balou 

Bannocks  o'  Bear  Meal 

Wae  is  my  Heart 

Here 's  his  Health  in  Water  .    .    .    . 

The  Winter  of  Life 

The  Tailor 

There  grows  a  Bonie  Brier-bush     .     . 

Here  's  to  thy  Health 

It  was  a'  for  our  Rightfu'  King  .  .  . 
The  Highland  Widow's  Lament  .  . 
Thou  Gloomy  December  .  .  .  .  . 
My  Peggy's  Face,  my  Peggy's  Form  . 
O,     steer     her     up,    an'     haud     her 

Gaun o 

Wee  Willie  Gray  .... 
We're  a'  Noddin  .... 
O,  ay  my  Wife  she  dang  Me 

Scroggam 

O,  Guid  Ale  Comes  .    .    . 

Robin  Shure  in  Hairst   .     . 

Does  Haughty  Gaul  Invasion  Threat  ? 

O,  once  I  lov'd  a  Bonie  Lass 

My  Lord  a-hunting    .... 

Sweetest  May 

Meg  o'  the  Mill 

Jockie  's  ta'en  the  Parting  Kiss 
O,  lay  thy  Loof  in  mine.  Lass 
Cauld  is  the  E'ening  Blast 
There  was  a  Bonie  Lass     .     . 
There  's  News,  Lasses,  News 
O,  that  I  had  ne'er  been  Married 
Mally's  Meek,  Mally's  Sweet 
Wandering  Willie     .... 
Braw  Lads  o'  Galla  Water 
Auld  Rob  Morris  ..... 
Open  the  Door  to  me,  O    .     , 
When  Wild  War's  Deadly  Blast 
Duncan  Gray  (second  set)     . 
Deluded  Swain,  the  Pleasure 

Here  is  the  Glen 

Let  not  Women  e'er  Comf)lain 

Lord  Gregory 

O  Poortith  Cauld 


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288 
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289 
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291 
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291 
292 
292 
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293 
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296 
296 
296 
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297 
297 
298 
298 
298 
299 

299 
300 
300 
301 
302 
302 
303 
303 
303 
304 


CONTENTS. 


u 


Page 

O,  stay,  Sweet  Warbling  Wood-lark   .  304 

Saw  ye  Bonie  Lesley 305 

Sweet  fa's  the  Eve 305 

Young  Jessie 305 

Adown  Winding  Nith 306 

A  Lass  wi'  a  Tocher 307 

lilythe  hae  I  been  on  Yon  Hill  ,    .    .  307 

By  Allan  Stream 307 

Canst  thou  leave  me 308 

Come,  let  me  take  thee 308 

Contented  wi'  Little 308 

Farewell,  thou  Stream 309 

Had  I  a  Cave 309 

Here  's  a  Health 310 

How  Cruel  are  the  Parents  ....  310 
Husband,      Husband,      cease     your 

Strife 311 

It  was  the  Charming  Month  ....  311 

Last  May  a  Braw  Wooer 312 

My  Nanie  's  awa 313 

Now  Rosy  May 313 

Now  Spring  has  Clad 314 

O,  this  is  no  my  Ain  Lassie   ....  314 

O,  wat  ye  wha  that  lo'es  me    ....  315 

Scots,  Wha  hae 315 

Their  Groves  o'  Sweet  Myrtle     .     .     .  316 

Thine  am  I 316 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie    .     .     .  317 

Highland  Mary 317 

My  Chloris,  Mark 318 

Fairest  Maid  on  Devon  Banks   .     .     .  318 

Lassie  wi'  the  Lint-white  Locks  .     .     .  319 

Long,  Long  the  Night 319 

Logan  Water 320 

Yon  Rosy  Brier 320 

Where  are  the  Joys 320 

Behold  the  Hour 321 

Forlorn  my  Love 321 

Ca'  the  Yowes  to  the  Knowes  (second 

set) 322 

How  can  my  Poor  Heart 322 

Is  there  for  Honest  Poverty   ....  323 

Mark  Yonder  Pomp 324 

O,  let  me  in  this  Ae  Night 324 

O  Philly,  Happy  be  that  Day ....  325 

O,  were  my  Love 326 

Sleep'st  thou 326 

There  was  a  Lass 327 

The  Lea-rig 328 

My  Wife  's  a  Winsome  Wee  Thing    .  328 

Mary  Morison 329 


Pagb 

Miscellaneous  Songs 

A  Ruined  Farmer 329 

Montgomerie's  Peggy      ....  330 

The  Lass  of  Cessnock  Banks  .     .  330 

Tho'  Fickle  Fortune 332 

Raging  Fortune 332 

My  Father  was  a  Farmer     .    .    .  332 

O,  Leave  Novels 333 

The  Mauchline  Lady 334 

One  Night  as  I  did  Wander     .     .  334 

There  was  a  Lad 334 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary,  335 

Her  Flowing  Locks 335 

The  Lass  o'  Ballochmyle      .     .     ,  335 

The  Night  was  Still      .     .     .     .     ,  336 

Masonic  Song 336 

The  Bonie  Moor-hen 337 

Here  's  a  Bottle 337 

The  Bonie  Lass  of  Albanie      .     .  338 

Amang  the  Trees 338 

The  Chevalier's  Lament       .     .     .  338 

Yestreen  I  had  a  Pint  o'  Wine     .  339 

Sweet  are  the  Banks 340 

Ye  Flowery  Banks 340 

Caledonia 341 

You  're  Welcome,  Willie  Stewart .  342 

W^hen  First  I  Saw 342 

Behold  the  Hour  (first  set)  .     .     .  343 
Here  's  a  Health   to   them  that 's 

awa 343 

Ah,  Chloris 344 

Pretty  Peg 344 

Meg  o'  the  Mill  (second  set)     .     .  344 

Phillis  the  Fair 345 

O  saw  ye  my  Dear,  my  Philly  .     .  345 

'Twas  na  her  Bonie  Blue  E'e  .     .  346 

Why,  why  tell  thy  Lover  ....  346 

The  Primrose 346 

O,  wert  thou  in  the  Cauld  Blast    .  346 

Interpolations 

Your  Friendship 347 

For  thee  is  Laughing  Nature   .     .  347 

No  Cold  Approach 347 

Altho'  he  has  left  me 347 

Let  Loove  Sparkle 347 

As  down  the  Bum 348 

Improbables 

On  Rough  Roads 348 

Elegy  on  Stella  ,    , 348 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

Poem  on  Pastoral  Poetry  .  .  .  350 
On  the  Destruction  of  Drumlan- 

rig  Woods 351 

The  Joyful  Widower 351 

Why   should  we   idly  waste   our 

Prime 352 

The  Tree  of  Liberty 352 

To  a  Kiss 354 

Delia  (an  ode) 354 

To  the  Owl 354 

The  Vowels  (a  tale) 355 

On    the    Illness   of   a  Favourite 

Child 356 

On  the    Death    of   a    Favourite 

Child 356 

Poems    of    Doubtful    Authen- 
ticity :  — 

A  Tippling  Ballad 357 

The  Wren's  Nest 358 

My  Girl  she  's  Airy 358 

The  Ploughman's  Life     ....  358 

Sound  be  his  Sleep 358 

When  Pleasure  Fascinates  .  .  .  358 
On   Thomas     Kirkpatrick,    Late 

Blacksmith  in  Stoop     ....  359 

Sick  of  the  World 359 

The  Philosopher's  Stone      .    .    .  359 

Now,  God  in  Heaven 359 

Leezie  Lindsay 359 

It  may  —  do  —  maun  —  do.     .     .  359 

Dear  Sir,  our  Lucky  humbly  Begs,  359 

I  look  to  the  West 360 

Ah,  Chloris! 360 

Kist  Yestreen,  Kist  Yestreen    ,     .  360 

Come  fill  me  a  Bumper  .     .     .     .  560 

Extempore  Lines 360 

Thanksgiving  for  a  National  Vic- 
tory       360 

Poems  rejected  by  Latest  Edi- 
tors OF  BURNS: — 

The  Hermit  of  Aberfeldy     .     .     .  361 

Pastoral  Verses  to  Clarinda  .     .    .  362 

The  Ruined  Maid's  Lament    .    .  362 


Pagb 

The  Banks  of  Nith 363 

Happy  Friendship 363 

Come  rede  me,  Dame 364 

Verses  written  under  Violent  Grief     .  364 

As  I  was  a-wandering 365 

Could  aught  of  Song 365 

On  himself 366 

Epitaph  on  the  Poet's  Daughter     .    .  366 

I  met  a  Lass,  a  Bonie  Lass     ....  366 

On  Maria  Dancing 366 

Jenny  M'Craw 366 

Lass,  when  your  Mither  is  frae  Hame .  366 

Lament 367 

O  gie  my  Love  Brose,  Brose  ....  367 

O  wat  ye  what  my  Minnie  did  ?      .     .  367 

Oh  wha  is  she  that  lo'es  me  ?      .     .     .  368 

Evan  Banks 368 

Powers  Celestial !  whose  Protection   .  369 

O  can  ye  sew  Cushions  ? 369 

On  Burns's  Horse  being  Impounded  .  369 

Hughie  Graham 370 

The  Selkirk  Grace 370 

Damon  and  Sylvia 370 

Whan  I  sleep  I  Dream 370 

Katharine  Jaffray 370 

Braw  Lads  of  Galla  Water     ....  371 

Liberty 371 

The  Last  Braw  Bridal 372 

There  came  a  Piper 372 

There 's     naethin    like    the    Honest 

Nappy 372 

When  I  think  on  the  Happy  Days  .    .  372 

Ye  hae  lien  a'  Wrang,  Lassie     .    .    .  372 

Johnny  Peep 373 

Innocence 373 

Verses  on  Lincluden  Abbey  ....  373 

Verses  to  my  Bed 374 

Bruce 374 

Shelah  O'Neil 374 

Notes 377 

Glossary 385 

Chronological  Index     ....  421 
General  Index  of  Titles  and 

First  Lines 432 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH. 


Robert  Burns  was  born  January  25,  1759. 

His  father,  William  Burns,  or  Burness,  was  of  the  North  of  Scotland  where,  at 
Kincardineshire,  his  ancestors  for  many  generations  had  been  farmers.  He  was 
"  thrown  by  early  misfortunes  on  the  world  at  large,"  says  the  poet  in  his  biographical 
letter  to  Dr.  Moore,  and  there  he  adds,  "  after  many  years'  wanderings  and  sojourn- 
ings,  I  picked  up  a  pretty  large  quantity  of  observation  and  experience,  to  which  I 
am  indebted  for  most  of  my  little  pretensions  to  wisdom.  I  have  met  with  few  who 
understood  men,  their  manners  and  their  ways,' equal  to  him;  but  stubborn,  ungainly 
integrity,  and  headlong,  ungovernable  irascibility,  are  disqualifying  circumstances; 
consequently,  I  was  born  a  very  poor  man's  son." 

After  several  years'  residence  near  Edinburgh,  he  took  seven  acres  of  land  in 
Doonside  with  the  intention  of  becoming  a  nurseryman,  but  was  engaged  as  gardener 
and  overseer  to  Mr.  Fergusson  of  Doonholm.  He  retained  the  land,  and  on  one 
spot  of  it  built  a  clay  "  biggin  "  or  cottage,  divided  into  a  kitchen  with  a  recess  for  a 
bed,  and  a  "  spence  "  or  sitting-room  with  a  fireplace  and  chimney.  Gilbert  Burns 
remarked,  long  afterwards,  that  when  it  was  altogether  cast  over  inside  and  outside 
with  lime  it  had  "a  neat  and  comfortable  appearance."  It  still  stands, and  is  used  as 
a  Burns  museum.  Here  in  December,  1757,  he  brought  his  bride,  Agnes  Brown,  the 
daughter  of  a  Carrick  farmer;  a  red-haired,  dark-eyed,  hot-tempered  lassie  eleven 
years  his  junior. 

Robert  was  their  first-born.  When  he  was  seven  years  old  his  father  became 
tenant  of  a  small  farm  belonging  to  Mr.  Fergusson,  at  Mount  Oliphant,  not  far  from 
the  mouth  of  "Bonnie  Doon."  The  land  was  poor;  and  after  the  death  of  their 
"generous  master"  they  "fell  into  the  hands  of  a  factor,"  who,  says  Burns,  sat  for 
the  picture  that  he  drew  of  one  in  his  tale  of  "  Twa  Dogs." 

Still  more  trying  was  their  life  at  Tarbolton  on  the  Ayr,  where  they  took  a  larger 
farm  in  1777.  At  first  they  lived  comfortably;  but  a  difference  as  to  terms  arose, 
and  "  after  three  years'  tossing  and  whirling  in  the  vortex  of  litigation,"  the  suit  was 
decided  in  favor  of  the  landlord,  and  William  Burness,  whose  health  and  spirit  were 
entirely  broken,  died  in  February,  1784,  "just  saved  from  the  horrors  of  a  jail." 

Robert  began  to  go  to  school  when  he  was  six  years  old.  In  1765,  John  Murdoch, 
a  young  man  of  eighteen,  became  his  teacher.  In  his  recollections  Murdoch  says 
that  Robert  and  Gilbert  were  generally  near  the  head  of  their  classes,  "  even  when 
ranged  with  boys  by  far  their  seniors."  He  says  that  they  committed  to  memory  the 
hymns  and  other  poems  of  Masson's  collection  with  uncommon  facility;  but  strangely 
enough  the  two  boys  were  behind  all  the  others  in  music.     "  Robert's  ear,"  says 

xi 


xii  BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH. 

Murdoch,  "was  remarkably  dull,  and  his  voice  untunable.  It  was  long  before  I 
could  get  them  to  distinguish  one  tune  from  another;  "  and,  in  conclusion,  he 
declares,  that  "  certainly  if  any  person  who  knew  the  two  boys  had  been  asked  which 
of  them  was  the  most  likely  to  court  the  Muses,  he  would  surely  never  have  guessed 
that  Robert  had  a  propensity  of  that  kind." 

*'  Though  it  cost  the  schoolmaster  some  thrashings,"  says  Burns,  "  I  made  an 
excellent  English  scholar;  and  by  the  time  I  was  ten  or  eleven  years  of  age,  I  was  a 
critic  in  substantives,  verbs,  and  particles.  In  my  infant  and  boyish  days,  too,  I  owe 
much  to  an  old  woman  who  resided  in  the  family,  remarkable  for  her  ignorance, 
credulity,  and  superstition.  She  had,  I  suppose,  the  largest  collection  in  the  country 
of  tales  and  songs  concerning  devils,  ghosts,  fairies,  brownies,  witches,  warlocks, 
spunkies,  kelpies,  elf-candles,  death-lights,  wraiths,  apparitions,  cantraips,  enchanted 
towers,  giants,  dragons,  and  other  trumpery.  This  cultivated  the  latent  seeds  of 
poesy.  .  .  .  The  earliest  composition  that  I  recollect  taking  pleasure  in  was  '  The 
Vision  of  Mirza,'  and  a  hymn  of  Addison's  beginning,  '  How  are  thy  servants  blest, 
O  Lord  ! '  " 

He  says  that  the  first  books  that  he  read  in  private  were  "  The  Life  of  Hannibal," 
lent  to  him  by  Mr.  Murdoch,  and  the  "  History  of  Sir  William  Wallace,"  which  he 
procured  from  a  neighboring  blacksmith;  and  declares  that  Hannibal  gave  his  young 
ideas  such  a  turn,  that  he  used  to  strut  in  rapture  up  and  down  after  the  recruiting 
drum  and  bagpipe,  and  wish  himself  tall  enough  to  be  a  soldier;  while  the  story  of 
Wallace  poured  into  his  veins  a  Scottish  prejudice  which  would  boil  along  there  till 
the  flood-gates  of  life  shut  in  eternal  rest. 

Salmon's  and  Guthrie's  geographical  grammars  told  him  all  that  he  knew  of 
*'  ancient  story."  His  ideas  of  *'  modern  manners,  of  literature  and  criticism,"  he 
got  from  the  "Spectator."  Pope's  works,  some  of  Shakespeare's  plays,  Locke's 
*'  Essay  on  Human  Understanding,"  Allan  Ramsay's  works,  Taylor's  "  Scripture 
Doctrine  jf  Original  Sin,"  a  select  collection  of  English  songs,  Hervey's  "  Medita- 
tion," ard  a  few  other  books,  formed  the  whole  of  his  early  reading. 

The  collection  of  songs,  he  says,  was  his  vade  juecum  :  "  I  pored  over  them  driv- 
ing my  cart,  or  walking  to  labor,  song  by  song,  verse  by  verse :  carefully  noting  the 
true,  tender,  or  sublime,  from  affectation  and  fustian.  I  am  convinced,"  he  adds,  "  I 
owe  to  this  practice  much  of  my  critic  craft,  such  as  it  is." 

After  Mr.  Murdoch,  who  was,  unfortunately,  addicted  to  the  use  of  ardent  spirits, 
left  Ml.  Oliphant  he  sometimes  came  back  to  make  visits,  and  on  one  occasion  read 
Shakespeare's  "  Titus  Andronicus  ";  and  it  is  said  that  "  Robert's  pure  taste  rose  in  a 
passionate  revolt  against  its  coarse  cruelties  and  unspiritual  horror%"  Murdoch  also 
helped  him  to  a  small  knowledge  of  French.  But  when  a  lady  once  asked  him  if  he 
had  studied  Latin,  he  replied : 

"  All  I  know  of  Latin  is  contained  in  three  words,  omnia  vhicit  Amor  !  " 

After  the  removal  of  the  family  to  Lochlea  in  1777,  he  received  from  his  father 
yearly  wages  of  seven  pounds  sterling.  In  order  to  give  his  manners  a  brush,  as  he 
expresses  it,  he  at  that  time  began  to  go  to  a  country  dancing-school.  His  father  had 
"an  unaccountable  antipathy  against  such  meetings";  and  indeed  he  had  reason  to 
tremble  for  his  son.  On  his  death-bed,  when  Robert  was  present  alone  with  him  and 
his  sister,  Mrs.  Begg,  he  confessed  that  there  was  one  of  his  family  for  whose  future 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH. 


Xlll 


he  feared.     Robert  asked  :  "Oh,  father,  is  it  me  you  mean?"  and  when  the  old  man 
said  it  was,  Robert  turned  to  the  window  and  burst  into  tears. 

Burns  had  already  been  initiated  into  the  delirious'society  of  love  and  had  "  com- 
mitted the  sin  of  rhyme."  When  he  was  about  sixteen  his  partner  in  the  harvesting 
was  Miss  Nellie  Kilpatrick,  known  as  "  Handsome  Nell,"  a  girl  a  year  younger  than 
himself.  "  Among  her  other  love-inspiring  qualities,  she  sang  sweetly,  and  it  was  to 
her  favorite  reel "  that  he  first  attempted  to  fit  words.     It  was  the  song  beginning: 

"  O,  once  I  lov'd  a  bonnie  lass, 
Ay,  and  I  love  her  still. 
And  whilst  that  virtue  warms  my  breast 
I  '11  love  my  handsome  Nell. 

Fal  lal  de  ral,  etc." 

His  own  criticism  upon  it  in  his  "  Common-Place  Book  "  is  interesting  and  curious. 
After  taking  it  up  stanza  by  stanza  he  adds :  "  I  remember  I  composed  it  in  a  wild 
enthusiasm  of  passion;  and  to  this  hour  I  never  recollect  it  but  my  heart  melts,  my 
blood  sallies  at  the  remembrance." 

The  dancing-school  offered  further  opportunities  in  what  the  Scotch  call  sweet- 
hearting.  Burns,  who  saw  no  way  to  rise  above  his  surroundings  and  yet  had  a  vast 
ambition,  became  discouraged,  and  simply  drifted  with  the  tide.  He  says  of  this 
period : 

"  My  heart  was  completely  tinder,  and  was  eternally  lighted  up  by  some  goddess 
or  other;  and,  as  in  every  other  warfare  in  this  world,  my  fortune  was  various,  some- 
times I  was  received  with  favor,  and  sometimes  I  was  mortified  with  a  repulse.  At 
the  plough,  scythe,  or  reap-hook  I  feared  no  competitor,  and  thus  I  set  absolute 
want  at  defiance;  and  as  I  never  cared  farther  for  my  labors  than  while  I  was  in 
actual  exercise,  I  spent  the  evenings  in  the  way  after  my  own  heart." 

All  this  was  a  dangerous  but  powerful  training  for  the  profession  of  minnesinger. 

When  he  was  eighteen  years  of  age,  he  studied  mensuration,  surveying,  drilling, 
and  kindred  branches  of  practical  knowledge,  under  the  parish  schoolmaster  of 
Kirkoswald  in  the  district  of  Carrick,  where  he  spent  some  time,  probably  with  his 
mother's  relatives. 

The  schoolmaster,  whose  name  was  Rodger,  was  "skilled  in  mathematics,"  but 
possessed  "  a  narrow  understanding  and  little  general  knowledge."  He  discovered 
that  Burns  and  a  youth  called  "  Willie  "  were  in  the  habit  of  holding  "  disputations 
or  arguments  on  speculative  questions,"  This  seemed  to  him  absurd ;  and  one 
day,  when  the  whole  school  was  assembled,  he  went  up  to  the  two  young  men  and 
began  very  sarcastically  to  twit  them  on  their  debates.  The  other  scholars  who  had 
been  invited  to  join  in  these  intellectual  disputes,  but  who  preferred  ball  or  shirty, 
burst  into  uproarious  laughter  at  the  teacher's  wit. ' 

"  Willie  "  replied  that  he  was  sorry  to  find  that  Robert  and  he  had  given  offence; 
that  it  was  unintentional;  indeed,  they  supposed  he  would  be  pleased  to  know  of 
their  attempts  to  improve  their  minds.  Rodger  asked  what  they  disputed  about,  and 
"  Willie  "  replied  that  their  (juestion  that  day  had  been  whether  a  great  general  or  a 
respectable  merchant  were  the  most  valuable  member  of  society.    The  master,  laugh- 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH, 


ing  contemptuously  at  the  "  silliness  "  of  such  a  question,  said  there  could  be  no  doubt 
about  it,  and  was  drawn  into  an  argument  by  Burns,  who  easily  got  the  better  of  him, 
F'aiHng  to  regain  his  superiority  Rodger  fell  into  such  a  "  pitiable  state  of  vexation  " 
that  he  had  to  dismiss  the  school. 

But  it  was  not  altogether  mental  improvement  he  found  at  this  "  noted  school." 
That  wild  coast  was  the  resort  of  smugglers.  He  made  good  progress  in  his  mathe 
matics,  but  he  says  he  made  greater  progress  in  the  knowledge  of  mankind:  "The 
contraband  trade  was  at  that  time  very  successful,  and  it  sometimes  happened  to  me 
to  fall  in  with  those  who  carried  it  on.  Scenes  of  swaggering  riot  and  roaring  dissi- 
pation were,  till  this  time,  new  to  me;  but  I  was  no  enemy  to  social  life.  Here, 
though  I  learnt  to  fill  my  glass,  and  to  mix  without  fear  in  a  drunken  squabble,  yet  I 
went  on  with  a  high  hand  with  my  geometry  till  the  sun  entered  Virgo,  a  month  which 
is  always  a  carnival  in  my  bosom;  when  a  charming  fillette,  who  lived  next  door  to 
the  school,  overset  my  trigonometry,  and  set  me  off  at  a  tangent  from  the  spheres  of 
my  studies." 

The  image  of  that  "  modest  and  innocent  girl "  effectually  prevented  any  more 
attempts  to  measure  the  sun's  altitude.  Study  was  useless.  But  "  the  ebullition  of 
that  passion  "  was  only  a  song,  one  of  his  most  beautiful,  beginning  "  Now  westlin 
winds  and  slaught'ring  guns." 

On  his  return  to  Tarbolton  he  still  further  indulged  his  love  of  discussion  by  join- 
ing with  his  brother  Gilbert  and  five  other  young  men  in  establishing  a  debating 
society,  where  the  young  people  set  for  themselves  such  questions  as  this :  "  Suppose 
a  young  man,  bred  a  farmer,  but  without  any  fortune,  has  it  in  his  power  to  marry 
either  of  two  women :  the  one  a  girl  of  large  fortune,  but  neither  handsome  in  person 
nor  agreeable  in  conversation,  but  who  can  manage  the  household  affairs  of  a  farm 
well  enough;  the  other  of  them,  a  girl  every  way  agreeable  in  person,  conversation, 
and  behavior,  but  without  any  fortune:   which  of  them  shall  he  choose?" 

At  Tarbolton  also,  while  still  under  his  father's  roof.  Burns  wrote  several  of  his 
finest  and  sweetest  songs : 

"  Behind  yon  hills,  where  Lugar  flows 
Mang  moors  an'  mosses  many,  O ! 
The  wintry  sun  the  day  has  clos'd. 
An'  I  '11  awa'  to  Nanie,  O." 
aud 

"  It  was  upon  a  Lammas  night, 
When  corn  rigs  are  bonie, 
Beneath  the  moon's  unclouded  light, 
I  held  awa'  to  Annie :  " 

and  more  than  one  in  praise  of  the  Tarbolton  lasses : 

'*  There  's  few  sae  bonie>  nane  sae  guid 
In  a'  King  George'  dominion." 

While  still  at  Tarbolton,  Burns  was  induced  by  his  friend,  John  Rankine,  to  join 
St.  Mary's  Lodge  of  Free-masons;  and  he  became  like  Mozart,  and  about  the  same 
time,  an  enthusiastic  member  of  the  order. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH.  xv 


When  he  was  about  twenty-three  years  old,  he  conceived  the  idea  of  going  into 
the  flax  business;  so  he  went  to  live  with  a  flax-dresser  named  Peacock,  a  relative  of 
his  mother's,  in  the  neighboring  town  of  Irvine. 

Among  his  acquaintances  at  Irvme,  which  was  a  small  seaport  town,  were  also 
smugglers,  whose  influence  upon  him  was  not  good;  and  his  chief  friend  was  a  young 
fellow  named  Richard  Brown,  whom  he  called  "a  very  noble  character,  but  a  hapless 
son  of  misfortune."  This  "  noble  fellow,"  whose  mind  "  was  fraught  with  indepen- 
dence, magnanimity,  and  every  manly  virtue,"  was  the  only  man,  Burns  confesses, 
who  was  a  greater  fool  than  himself  "where  Woman  was  the  presiding  star."  "  He 
spoke  of  ilUcit  love  with  the  levity  of  a  sailor,  which  hitherto  I  had  regarded  with 
horror.  Here  his  friendship  did  me  a  mischief;  and  the  consequence  was  that  soon 
after  I  assumed  the  plough,  I  wrote  the  *  Poet's  Welcome.' " 

The  illegitimate  daughter  thus  welcomed  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  Burns.  She 
married  Mr,  John  Bishop  of  Polkemmet,  and  died  in  1817.  It  is  proper  to  add  that 
the  poet  was  afterwards  "  stung  by  a  manly  sorrow  "  at  the  tone  in  which  this  poem 
to  his  shame  was  written. 

Doubtless  his  recklessness  was  partly  due  to  the  fact  that  he  had  just  been  disap- 
pointed in  his  hopes  of  marrying  Miss  Ellison  Begbie,  "  an  amiable,  intelligent,  but 
not  particularly  handsome  girl,"  in  the  service  of  a  family  on  the  banks  of  the 
Cessnock.     To  her  he  wrote  the  song  : 

"On  Cessnock  banks  a  lassie  dwells; 

Could  I  describe  her  shape  and  mien !  ' 
Our  lasses  a'  she  far  excels, 

An'  she  has  tvva  sparkling  rogueish  een." 

He  was  deeply  in  love  with  her,  but  her  affections  were  given  to  another. 

He  was  at  this  time  suffering  from  a  nervous  disorder,  and  his  constitutional 
hypochondria,  inherited  from  his  father,  was  intensified  by  the  depressing  effects  of 
dissipation.  His  gloomy  state  of  mind  may  be  seen  in  certain  passages  of  a  letter 
written  to  his  father  two  days  after  Christmas,  1781  or  1782: 

"  Honored  Sir, 

"  My  health  is  nearly  the  same  as  when  you  were  here,  only  my  sleep  is  a  little 
sounder,  and  on  the  whole  I  am  rather  better  than  otherwise,  though  I  mend  by  very 
slow  degrees.  The  weakness  of  my  nerves  has  so  debilitated  my  mind  that  I  dare 
neither  review  past  events,  nor  look  forward  into  futurity;  for  the  least  anxiety  or 
perturbation  in  my  breast  produces  most  unhappy  effects  on  my  whole  frame.  Some- 
times, indeed,  when  for  an  hour  or  two  my  spirits  are  a  little  lightened,  I  glimmer  a 
little  into  futurity;  but  my  principal,  and  indeed  my  only  pleasurable  employment,  is 
looking  backwards  and  forwards  in  a  moral  and  religious  way.  I  am  quite  trans- 
ported at  the  thought  that  ere  long,  perhaps  very  soon,  I  shall  bid  an  eternal  adieu  to 
all  the  pains,  and  uneasinesses,  and  disquietudes  of  this  weary  life;  for  I  assure  you  I 
am  heartily  tired  of  it,  and  if  I  do  not  very  much  deceive  myself,  I  could  contentedly 
and  gladly  resign  it.  .  .  .  As  for  this  world,  I  despair  of  ever  making  a  figure  in  it. 
I  am  not  formed  for  the  bustle  of  the  busy,  nor  the  flutter  of  the  gay.    I  shall  never  again 


XVI 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


be  capable  of  entering  into  such  scenes.  Indeed,  I  am  altogether  unconcerned  at  the 
thoughts  of  this  life.  I  foresee  that  poverty  and  obscurity  probably  await  me,  and  I 
am  in  some  measure  prepared,  and  daily  preparing,  to  meet  them.  I  have  but  just 
time  and  paper  to  return  you  my  grateful  thanks  for  the  lessons  of  virtue  and  piety 
you  have  given  me,  which  were  too  much  neglected  at  the  time  of  giving  them,  but 
which  I  hope  have  been  remembered  ere  it  is  yet  too  late.  ..." 

Three  days  later,  while  he  and  some  of  his  friends  "  were  giving  a  welcome  carou- 
sal to  the  new  year,"  the  shop  was  set  on  fire  and  totally  destroyed,  so  that  he  "  was 
left  like  a  true  poet,  not  worth  a  sixpence."  He  attributed  it  to  "  the  drunken  care- 
lessness" of  his  partner's  wife.  His  partner  he  called  "a  scoundrel  of  the  first 
water,  who  made  money  by  the  mystery  of  thieving !  " 

A  year  or  two  afterwards,  in  March,  1 784,  he  wrote  in  his  "  Common-Place  Book  " : 
"There  was  a  certain  period  of  my  life  that  my  spirit  was  broke  by  repeated  losses 
and  disasters,  which  threatened,  and  indeed  effected,  the  utter  ruin  of  my  fortune. 
My  body,  too,  was  attacked  by  that  most  dreadful  distemper,  a  hypochondria,  or 
confirmed  melancholy.  In  this  wretched  state,  the  recollection  of  which  makes  me 
yet  shudder,  I  hung  my  harp  on  the  willow-trees,  except  in  some  lucid  intervals,  in 
one  of  which  I  composed  the  *  Prayer :  Under  the  Pressure  of  Violent  Anguish,' 
which  begins : 

"  O  Thou  Great  Being !  what  Thou  art 
Surpasses  me  to  know  : 
'        Yet  sure  I  am,  that  known  to  Thee 
Are  all  Thy  works  below." 

But  at  last  the  cloud  passed,  as  is  shown  by  the  cheerfulness  of  his  extempore  lines 
which  are  referred  to  the  following  April  : 

"  O,  why  the  deuce  should  I  repine, 
And  be  an  ill  foreboder? 
I  'm  twenty-three,  and  five  feet  nine  — 
I  '11  go  and  be  a  sodger. 

r  gat  some  gear  wi'  meikle  care, 

I  held  it  weel  thegither; 
But  now  it 's  gane  —  and  something  mair : 

I  '11  go  and  be  a  sodger." 

After  his  return  to  Lochlea,  he  and  his  brother  Gilbert  hired  a  farm  of  one  hundred 
and  nineteen  acres  at  Mossgiel,  near  the  village  of  Mauchline,  at  an  annual  rental  of 
ninety  pounds.  Three  months  later  their  father  died,  leaving  his  affairs  in  utter  ruin. 
"His  all,"  says  Burns,  "  went  among  the  hell  hounds  that  growl  in  the  kennel  of 
justice."  As  his  sons  and  two  married  daughters  ranked  as  creditors  ici  arrears  of 
wages,  they  saved  a  little  money  from  the  wreck,  and  the  whole  family  moved  to 
Mossgiel  in  March,  1784.  Gilbert  Burns  bears  witness  to  his  brother's  steadiness  and 
industry  during  their  joint  partnership,  but,  after  all,  the  drudgery  of  farming  was 
irksome  to  a  poet:  it  was  Pegasus  harnessed  to  a  plough. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH.  x\ii 

He  expresses  his  feelings  in  a  rhymed  epistle  to  his  friend  David  Sillar,  "  a  brother 
poet,  lover,  ploughman,  and  fiddler  "  : 

*'  While  winds  frae  aff  Ben-Lomond  blaw 
And  bar  the  doors  wi'  drivin  snaw, 

And  hing  us  owre  the  ingle, 
I  set  me  down  to  pass  the  time, 
And  spin  a  verse  or  twa  o'  rhyme, 

In  hamely,  westlin  jingle  : 
While  frosty  winds  blaw  in  the  drift, 

Ben  to  the  chimla  lug, 
I  grudge  a  wee  the  great-folk's  gift, 
That  live  sae  bien  an'  snug : 
I  tent  less,  and  want  less 

Their  roomy  fireside; 
But  hanker,  and  canker, 
To  see  their  cursed  pride. 

It 's  hardly  in  a  body's  pow'r 

To  keep,  at  times,  frae  being  sour, 

To  see  how  things  are  shar'd; 
How  best  o'  chiels  are  whyles  in  want, 
While  coofs  on  countless  thousands  rant. 


It 's  no  in  titles  nor  in  rank ; 

It 's  no  in  wealth  Hke  Lon'on  Bank, 

To  purchase  peace  and  rest; 
It 's  no  in  makin  muckle,  mair : 
It 's  no  in  books,  it 's  no  in  lear, 

To  make  us  truly  blest : 
If  happiness  hae  not  her  seat 

An'  centre  in  the  breast. 
We  may  be  wise,  or  rich,  or  great, 
But  never  can  be  blest ! 

Nae  treasures  nor  pleasures 

Could  make  us  happy  lang; 
The  heart  ay  's  the  part  ay. 
That  makes  us  right  or  wrang. 

But  tent  me,  Davie,  ace  o'  hearts  ! 

(To  say  aught  less  wad  wrang  the  cartes,- 

And  flatt'ry  I  detest) 
This  life  has  joys  for  you  and  I ; 
And  joys  that  riches  ne'er  could  buy, 

And  joys  the  very  best. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH. 


There  's  a'  the  pleasures  o'  the  heart. 

The  lover  an'  the  frien'; 
Ye  hae  your  Meg,  your  dearest  part, 
And  I  my  darling  Jean  ! 
It  warms  me,  it  charms  me 

To  mention  but  her  name : 
It  heats  me,  it  beets  me, 
And  sets  me  a'  on  flame  !  " 


The  "  darling  Jean,"  celebrated  in  his  "  Epistle  to  Davie,"  and  in  many  another 
poem,  was  Jean  Armour,  a  "  comely  country  lass,"  whom  he  met  at  a  penny  wedding 
at  Mauchline.  They  chanced  to  be  dancing  in  the  same  quadrille  when  the  poet's 
dog  sprang  to  his  master  and  almost  upset  some  of  the  dancers.  Burns  remarked 
that  he  wished  he  could  get  any  of  the  lasses  to  like  him  as  well  as  his  dog  did. 

Some  days  afterward,  Jean,  seeing  him  pass  as  she  was  bleaching  clothes  on  the 
village  green,  called  to  him  and  asked  him  if  he  had  as  yet  got  any  of  the  lasses  to 
like  him  as  well  as  his  dog  did. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  an  acquaintance  which  colored  all  of  Burns's  life. 

In  the  spring  of  1786  he  learned  that  she  was  about  to  become  a  mother. 

In  Scotland  at  that  time  a  license  and  a  ceremony  were  not  required  in  order  to 
legalize  a  marriage.  Burns,  who  was  inclined  to  be  honorable,  gave  Jean  a  written 
acknowledgment  of  marriage  —  a  sufficient  reparation  in  the  eyes  of  the  law. 

But  the  master-mason,  her  father,  compelled  her  to  destroy  the  paper  and  to  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  Burns,  who  was  then  in  the  straits  of  poverty  owing  to  a 
succession  of  bad  crops,  and  who  was  with  some  reason  looked  upon  by  the  pious 
inhabitants  of  that  parish  as  little  better  than  a  Pariah. 

This  was  in  April.  It  was  under  the  gloom  of  this  bitter  trouble  that  Burns  wrote 
his  "  Lament  occasioned  by  the  Unfortunate  Issue  of  a  Friend's  Amour  " : 

"  O  thou  pale  Orb  that  silent  shines 

While  care-untroubled  mortals  sleep  ! 
Thou  seest  a  wretch  who  inly  pines. 

And  wanders  here  to  wail  and  weep  ! 

With  woe  I  nightly  vigils  keep. 
Beneath  thy  wan,  unwarming  beam; 

And  mourn,  in  lamentation  deep, 
How  life  and  love  are  all  a  dream." 

The  friend  was  of  course  his  best  friend  and  worst  enemy  —  himself. 

Burns  was  really  very  fond  of  his  "  Bonnie  Jean,"  and  he  wrote  that  though  he  had 
not  a  hope  or  a  wish  to  make  her  his  after  her  conduct,  yet  when  he  was  told  that 
"  the  names  were  out  "  of  the  informal  marriage  contract,  "  his  heart  died  within  him 
and  his  veins  were  cut  with  the  news." 

Emerson  says:  Nature's  darlings,  the  great,  the  strong,  the  beautiful,  are  not 
children  of  our  law ;  do  not  come  out  of  the  Sunday  school,  nor  weigh  their  food, 
nor  punctually  keep  the  commandments. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH.  xix 

So  much  the  worse  for  them. 

The  destruction  of  the  paper  did  not,  of  course,  absolve  Burns,  but  he  determined 
to  leave  Scotland  forever.  He  entered  into  negotiations  with  Dr.  John  Hamilton 
with  the  view  of  going  out  to  Jamaica  as  bookkeeper  on  a  plantation  there. 

While  this  matter  was  pending,  and  while  he  was  still  sore  at  the  treatment  which 
he  had  received  from  the  Armours,  Mary  Campbell,  known  to  fame  as  "  Hieland 
Mary,"  "  a  most  sprightly,  blue-eyed  creature  of  great  modesty  and  self-respect,"  who 
had  been  in  the  service  of  his  friend  and  landlord,  Gavin  Hamilton,  showed  so  much 
sympathy  with  him,  that  Burns,  considering  himself  free,  offered  to  make  her  his 
wife,  and  she  agreed  to  go  with  him  to  Jamaica.  She  left  Mauchline  and  started  on 
foot  for  Campbelltown  in  the  Highlands,  where  her  father  was  a  sailor. 

Burns  accompanied  her.  It  was  the  second  Sunday  in  May,  1786.  They  reached 
"a  sequestered  spot  on  the  banks  of  the  Ayr,"  —  now  a  railway  runs  within  a  few 
yards  of  it, — and  there  the  parting  took  place.  According  to  tradition,  they  stood 
on  opposite  sides  of  a  slow-running  brook,  and,  dipping  their  hands  into  the  pure 
water,  swore  solemn  vows  to  be  true  and  one  till  death. 

At  the  Burns  monument  at  Ayr  are  preserved  the  Bibles  which  they  exchanged. 
Mary's  gift  to  Burns  is  a  small  plain  one  ;  his  to  her,  a  dainty  edition  in  two  vol- 
umes.    In  one  of  them  the  poet  wrote  the  Scripture  verse : 

Yg  shall  not  swear  by  my  name  falsely  ;  I  am  the  Lord  (Levit.  xix.  12). 
And  in  the  other  : 

Thoti  shalt  not  forswear  thyself,  but  shall  per  for  vi  unto  the  Lord  thine  oaths  (Matt. 

V.  33)- 

The  poem  "  To  Mary  "  is  referred  by  Burns  to  this  time  when  he  was  "  thinking 
of  going  to  the  West  Indies  ": 

"  Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary, 
And  leave  auld  Scotia's  shore? 
Will  ye  go  the  Indies,  my  Mary, 
Across  the  Atlantic's  roar?" 

Nothing  more  was  said  about  Mary  Campbell  going  to  Jamaica  with  him.  Indeed, 
he  never  saw  her  again.  After  making  her  visit  at  Campbelltown,  she  started  for 
Glasgow  to  take  the  prosaic  place  of  a  servant ;  but  stopping  at  Greenock  to  care  for 
a  sick  brother,  she  caught  the  fever  and  died. 

There  is  nothing  in  Burns's  behavior  or  his  letters  to  indicate  that  this  poetic  end- 
ing of  a  miserable  story  was  regarded  as  anything  but  a  relief.  When  he  heard  the 
news  his  face  changed  and  he  left  the  house;  but  he  said  nothing  about  it,  and  only 
his  immortal  poem  "To  Mary  in  Heaven,"  written  years  afterward,  shows  that  it 
made  an  impression  on  him. 

On  the  contrary,  it  was  probably  only  a  hasty  episode  conducted  partly  under  the 
influence  of  pique;  and  so  he  continued  his  preparations  for  his  journey,  and  wrote  his 
rhymes,  and  conceived  the  idea  of  publishing  them. 

In  the  following  June,  1786,  he  wrote  to  Mr.  David  Brice,  a  shoemaker  of 
Glasgow,  a  full  account  of  his  trouble.     He  said : 

**  Poor,  ill-advised,  ungrateful  Armour  came  home  on  Friday  last.    You  have  heard 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH. 


all  the  particulars  of  that  affair,  and  a  black  affair  it  is.  What  she  thinks  of  her  con- 
duct now,  I  don't  know;  one  thing  I  do  know — she  has  made  me  completely 
miserable.  Never  man  loved,  or  rather  adored,  a  woman  more  than  I  did  her  :  and 
to  confess  a  truth  between  you  and  me,  I  do  still  love  her  to  distraction  after  all, 
though  I  won't  tell  her  so  if  I  were  to  see  her,  which  I  don't  want  to  do.  My  poor, 
dear,  unfortunate  Jean  !  how  happy  have  I  been  in  thy  arms !  It  is  not  the  losing  her 
that  makes  me  so  unhappy,  but  for  her  sake  I  feel  most  severely  :  I  foresee  she  is  in 
the  road  to,  1  am  afraid,  eternal  ruin. 

"  May  Almighty  God  forgive  her  ingratitude  and  perjury  to  me,  as  I  from  my 
very  soul  forgive  her;  and  may  His  grace  be  with  her  and  bless  her  in  all  her  future 
life  !  1  can  have  no  nearer  idea  of  the  place  of  eternal  punishment  that  what  I  have 
felt  in  my  own  breast  on  her  account.  I  have  tried  often  to  forget  her;  I  have  run 
into  all  kinds  of  dissipation  and  riots,  mason-meetings,  drinking-matches,  and  other 
mischief,  to  drive  her  out  of  my  head,  but  all  in  vain.  And  now  for  a  grand  cure : 
the  ship  is  on  her  way  home  that  is  to  take  me  out  to  Jamaica;  and  then,  farewell 
dear  old  Scotland !  and  farewell  dear,  ungrateful  Jean !  for  never,  never  will  I  see 
you  more. 

"  You  will  have  heard  that  I  am  going  to  commence  poet  in  print;  and  to-morrow 
my  works  go  to  the  press.  I  expect  it  will  be  a  volume  of  about  two  hundred  pages 
—  it  is  just  the  last  foolish  action  I  intend  to  do;  and  then  turn  a  wise  man  as  fast 
as  possible." 

It  was  only  after  considerable  hesitation  that  he  had  d^etermined  to  venture  into 
print  with  a  volume  of  poems.  Thus  he  expressed  his  doubts  in  a  poetic  epistle  to  his 
crony,  Mr.  James  Smith,  a  shopkeeper  in  Mauchline  : 

"  Just  now  I  've  taen  the  fit  o'  rhyme. 
My  barmie  noddle  's  working  prime, 
My  fancie  yerkit  up  sublime 

Wi'  hasty  summon : 
Hae  ye  a  leisure-moment's  time 

To  hear  what 's  comin? 

Some  rhyme  a  neebor's  name  to  lash; 

Some  rhyme  (vain  thought !)  for  needfu'  cash; 

Some  rhyme  to  court  the  countra  clash, 

An'  raise  a  din; 
For  me,  an  aim  I  never  fash; 

I  rhyme  for  fun. 

The  star  that  rules  my  luckless  lot, 

Has  fated  me  the  russet  coat, 

An'  damn'd  my  fortune  to  the  groat; 

But,  in  requit. 
Has  blest  me  with  a  random-shot 

O'  countra  wit. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  xxv 

This  while  my  motion  's  taen  a  sklent, 
To  try  my  fate  in  guid,  black  prent; 
But  still  the  mair  I  'm  that  way  bent, 
Something  cries,  *  Hoolie ! 
>  .  I  red  you,  honest  man,  tak  tent ! 

Ye  '11  shaw  your  folly : 

*  There  's  ither  poets,  much  your  betters, 
Far  seen  in  Greek,  deep  men  o'  letters, 
Hae  thought  they  had  ensur'd  their  debtors, 

A'  future  ages; 
Now  moths  deform,  in  shapeless  tatters. 

Their  unknown  pages.' 

Then  farewell  hopes  o'  laurel  boughs 
To  garland  my  poetic  brows ! 
Henceforth  I  '11  rove  where  busy  ploughs 

Are  whistling  thrang; 
An'  teach  the  lanely  heights  an'  howes 

My  rustic  sang." 

He  had  material  enough  for  a  volume.  For  months  he  had  been  pouring  forth  his 
most  beautiful  poems.  He  had  "  electrified  "  his  brother  Gilbert  by  repeating  to  him 
"The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night "  —  that  sentimental  apotheosis  of  humble  piety  and 
rural  content. 

Many  of  his  songs  were  household  words  in  his  neighborhood.  He  had  won 
unstinted  applause  and  even  more  unbounded  blame  by  his  satiric  verses  occasioned 
by  a  quarrel  which  was  dividing  the  parish  at  that  day,  and  into  which  he  entered 
with  all  the  zeal  of  his  impetuous  nature. 

The  descendants  or  representatives  of  the  old  Covenanters,  naturally  proud  of  their 
distinction,  clung  to  a  fierce  and  unmodified  Calvinism.  Their  clergy  and  the  elders 
of  the  Kirk  possessed  a  moral  dominion  which  had  become  a  veritable  tyranny,  ex- 
tending from  the  weightier  matters  of  the  law  even  down  to  the  merest  trifles  of  con- 
duct or  opinion. 

This  party  were  called  "The  Auld  Lichts." 

Opposed  to  them  were  the  New  Lights,  or  Moderates,  who  believed  that  Christians 
had  no  right  to  lay  down  the  law  upon  their  brethren  in  matters  of  faith  and  practice, 
and  that  the  "Kirk  Session"  —  that  is,  the  Committee  of  the  Elders  —  existed  simply 
to  assist  the  minister  in  knowing  his  congregation. 

The  two  ministers  of  Ayr  belonged  to  the  New  Lights,  and  one  of  them.  Dr. 
McGill,  had  undergone  persecution.  Burns's  kind  landlord  and  friend,  Gavin  Hamil- 
ton, had  been  absent  from  church  two  or  three  Sundays,  and  it  was  discovered,  by 
questioning  the  servants,  that  he  was  remiss  in  the  ordinances  of  family  worship.  He 
had  also  neglected  to  pay  a  small  church  rate.  He  was  selected  as  a  special  victim 
of  the  dominant  party.  Burns,  whose  father  was  a  Moderate,  naturally  sympathized 
with  that  side. 


xxii  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 

The  armor  of  the  Evangelicals  was  not  arrow-proof.  The  shafts  of  ridicule  could 
find  joints  to  pierce  ;  and,  worse  yet,  vital  places  were  not  protected.  Some  of  the 
most  violent  persecutors  of  Gavin  Hamilton  were  secretly  guilty  of  unworthy  practices, 
and  Burns  was  alert  to  seize  every  chance. 

Thus  he  picked  out  Mr.  William  Fisher,  one  of  the  Kirk  elders  of  Mauchline,  and 
gibbeted  him  in  the  doggerel  rhymes  —  unfortunately  not  guiltless  of  vulgarity  — 
entitled  "  Holy  Willie's  Prayer  "  : 

"  Oh  Thou,  wha  in  the  heavens  dost  dwell, 
Wha,  as  it  pleases  best  Thysel', 
Sends  ane  to  heaven  and  ten  to  hell, 

A'  for  Thy  glory, 
And  no  for  onie  guid  or  ill 

They  've  done  afore  Thee !  " 

The  attack  was  after  all  not  so  disreputable  as  the  elder's  ovm  career.  Burns 
called  him  a  hypocrite;  he  was  worse.  He  afterwards  was  found  guilty  of  embezzling 
church  funds;  and  he  died  in  a  ditch  into  which  he  fell  while  "elevated,"  as  they 
then  called  being  tipsy. 

Two  Auld  Licht  divines  had  quarrelled  about  their  parish  boundaries,  and  Burns 
satirized  them  in  his  "  Twa  Herds  "  : 

"  O  a'  ye  pious  godly  flocks, 
Weel  fed  on  pastures  orthodox, 
Wha  now  will  keep  you  frae  the  fox 

Or  worrying  tykes? 
Or  wha  will  tent  the  waifs  an'  crocks 

About  the  dykes? 

The  twa  best  herds  in  a'  the  wast. 
That  e'er  gae  gospel  horn  a  blast 
These  five  and  twenty  summers  past  — 

O,  dool  to  tell !  — 
Hae  had  a  bitter,  black  out-cast 

Atween  themsel'. 


Sic  twa —  O  !  do  I  live  to  see  't  ?— 
Sic  famous  twa  sud  disagree  't. 
An'  names  like  *  villain,'  *  hypocrite,* 

Ilk  ither  gi'en, 
"While  New-Light  herds  wi'  laughin'  spite 

Say,  *  neither  's  liein ! ' " 

The  Sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Supper  had  in  many  places  gradually  degenerated 
into  a  sort  of  carousal,  where  there  was  much  eating  and  drinking,  much  gossip  and 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  xxiii 

even  flirtation.  This  state  of  things  Burns  satirized  in  his  poem  entitled  "  The  Holy 
Fair " : 

"  Upon  a  simmer  Sunday  morn, 
When  Nature's  face  is  fair, 
I  walked  forth  to  view  the  corn. 

An'  snuff  the  caller  air. 
The  risin'  sun,  owre  Galston  muirs, 

Wi'  glorious  light  was  glintin; 
The  hares  were  hirplin  down  the  furs. 
The  lav'rocks  they  were  chantin 

Fu'  sweet  that  day." 

As  " lightsomely "  the  poet  glowers  abroad  "to  see  a  scene  so  gay,"  three  Hizzies 
—  Fun,  Superstition,  and  Hypocrisy  —  come  "skelpin  up  the  way,"  bound  for 
"  Mauchhne  Holy  Fair";  and  Fun,  his  "crony  dear,"  invites  him  to  accompany 
them.     The  sights  that  he  witnessed  he  then  describes  with  more  zest  than  propriety. 

There  were  more  satirical  poems  of  the  same  sort;  and  though  they  had  their 
legitimate  effect  (as  was  the  case  with  "The  Holy  Fair'';  and  worked  a  needed 
reform,  they  brought  much  obloquy  upon  Burns  himself,  who  was  perfectly  reckless 
as  long  as  he  made  a  point. 

It  was  not  hypocrisy  in  religion  alone  which  he  satirized.  The  village  school- 
master set  up  a  grocery  store,  and,  having  a  liking  for  drugs,  advertised  that  "  advice 
would  be  given  in  common  disorders,  at  the  shop,  gratis."  He  put  on  great  airs  of 
medical  knowledge,  and  Burns  one  day  repeated  to  his  brother  Gilbert  the  terrible 
lines  entitled  "  Death  and  Doctor  Hornbook." 

Here  the  Deil  describes  the  various  cases  in  which 

"  Hornbook  was  by  wi'  ready  art," 

to  prevent  poor  humanity  from  paying  its  last  debt,  and  "stop  him  of  his  lawfu' 
prey." 

The  laughter  caused  by  this  satire  was  so  great,  that  it  actually  drove  John  Wil- 
son, the  apothecary  and  schoolmaster,  out  of  the  country. 

It  seemed  to  Burns  that  his  local  reputation  as  a  poet  justified  him  in  risking  the 
venture ;  so  he  collected  over  three  hundred  subscriptions,  and  engaged  John  W^il- 
son,  a  printer  at  Kilmarnock,  to  publish  the  volume. 

While  he  was  busy  correcting  the  proofs,  Jean  Armour  came  home.  He  went  to 
call  upon  her,  "  not,"  so  he  wrote,  "  from  the  least  view  of  reconciliation,  but  merely 
to  ask  for  her  health  .  .  .  and  from  a  foolish,  hankering  fondness,  very  ill-placed 
indeed." 

Her  mother  forbade  him  the  house;  and  with  anger  in  his  heart,  he  resolved  to 
gain  his  "  certificate  as  a  single  man,''  promised  him  by  the  minister,  provided  he 
would  comply  with  the  rules  of  the  church.  On  the  seventeenth  of  July  he  wrote  to 
Mr.  David  Brice  : 

"  I  have  already  appeared  publicly  in  church,  and  was  indulged  in  the  liberty  of 
standing  in  my  own  seat.  I  do  this  to  get  a  certificate  as  a  bachelor,  which  Mr.  Auld 
has  promised  me.     I  am  now  fixed  to  go  for  the  West  Indies  in  October.     Jean  and 


xxiv  BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH. 

her  friends  insisted  much  that  she  should  stand  along  with  me  in  the  kirk,  but  the 
minister  would  not  allow  it,  which  bred  a  great  trouble,  I  assure  you,  and  I  am 
blamed  as  the  cause  of  it,  though  I  am  sure  I  am  innocent ;  but  I  am  very  much 
pleased,  for  all  that,  not  to  have  had  her  company." 

In  order  to  drive  Burns  from  the  country,  Jean's  father  got  out  a  warrant  to 
arrest  him.  "  Some  ill-advised  people,"  he  wrote  Dr.  Moore,  "  had  uncoupled  the 
merciless  pack  of  the  law  at  his  heels,"  and  he  was  skulking  about  from  Carrick  to 
Kyle,  and  from  Kyle  to  Carrick. 

"The  ship  Nancy,  Captain  Smith,  from  Clyde  to  Jamaica,  and  to  call  at  Antigua," 
was  to  sail  toward  the  latter  part  of  August.  Here  was  the  chance  for  Burns.  He 
was  saying  good-by  to  his  friends. 

He  had  passed  what  he  supposed  was  his  last  night  at  the  Tarbolton  Lodge,  where 
it  was  afterwards  remembered  that  he  "  came  in  a  pair  of  buckskins,  out  of  which  he 
would  always  pull  the  other  shilling  for  the  other  bowl  till  it  was  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning." 

The  departure  was  postponed  till  September,  and  in  September  poor  Jean  "  repaid 
him  double."  An  understanding  was  reached  between  the  two  families  as  to  the 
nurture  of  the  twins ;  and  still  Burns  lingered,  with  "  tender  yearnings  of  heart  for 
the  little  angels  to  whom  he  gave  existence,"  and  with  indefinite  hopes  that  after  all 
he  might  not  be  "  exiled,  abandoned,  forlorn." 

His  poems  had  succeeded  better  than  he  feared.  After  he  had  settled  with 
Wilson,  he  had  about  twenty  pounds  to  his  credit,  and  was  trying  to  publish  a  second 
edition.  But  Wilson  refused  to  undertake  it  unless  the  twenty-seven  pounds  required 
for  paper  were  advanced.  "This,"  said  Burns,  "is  out  of  my  power,  so  farewell 
hopes  of  a  second  edition  till  I  grow  richer  !  an  epocha  which,  I  think,  will  arrive  at 
the  payment  of  the  British  national  debt."  And  he  added  in  reference  to  his 
domestic  troubles : 

"  I  have  for  some  time  been  pining  under  secret  wretchedness,  from  causes  which 
you  pretty  well  know — the  pang  of  disappointment,  the  sting  of  pride,  with  some 
wandering  stabs  of  remorse,  which  never  fail  to  settle  on  my  vitals  like  vultures,  when 
attention  is  not  called  away  by  the  calls  of  society,  or  the  vagaries  of  the  Muse. 
Even  in  the  hour  of  social  mirth,  my  gayety  is  the  madness  of  an  intoxicated 
criminal  under  the  hands  of  the  executioner.  All  these  reasons  urge  me  to  go 
abroad;  and  to  all  these  reasons  I  have  only  one  answer,  —  the  feelings  of  a 
father.  This,  in  the  present  mood  I  am  in,  overbalances  everything  that  can  be 
laid  in  the  scale  against  it." 

The  poems  were  becoming  known  outside  of  Ayrshire.  Dr.  Lawrie  of  Lou- 
don, near  Kilmarnock,  sent  a  copy  of  the  precious  volume  to  Dr.  Thomas  Black- 
lock  of  Edinburgh,  the  well-known  blind  poet  and  preacher,  who  replied  in  a 
most  complimentary  manner,  and  wished,  "  for  the  sake  of  the  young  man,  that 
a  second  edition,  more  numerous  than  the  former,  could  immediately  be  printed." 

Professor  Dugald  Stewart  of  Edinburgh  had  a  country  residence  at  Catrine-on- 
the-Ayr,  only  a  few  miles  from  Mossgiel ;  and  having  come  into  possession  of 
Burns's  poems,  he  invited  the  young  man  to  dine  with  him.  On  this  occasion  he 
met  Basil  William,  Lord  Daer,  the  son  of  the  Earl  of  Selkirk,  a  youth  of  twenty- 
three,  and  shortly  afterward  wrote  the  poem  beginning: 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


"This  wot  ye  all  whom  it  concerns: 
I,  Rhymer  Robin,  alias  Burns, 

October  twenty-third, 
A  ne'er-to-be-forgutten  day, 
Sae  far  I  sprachl'd  up  the  brae 

I  dinner'd  wi'  a  Lord  !  " 

Professor  Stewart  declared  that  "  his  manners  were  simple,  manly,  and  independent; 
strongly  expressive  of  conscious  genius  and  worth,  but  without  anything  that  indicated 
forwardness,  arrogance,  and  vanity." 

About  the  same  time  the  Edinburgh  Magazine  came  out  with  a  favorable  review  of 
the  poems,  and  Burns  was  so  much  encouraged  that  he  determined  to  go  to  Edin- 
burgh and  try  his  fortunes  there. 

He  mounted  his  pony  and  reached  "  Edina,  Scotia's  darling  seat,"  on  the  evening 
of  November  28,  1786.  For  the  first  fortnight  he  suffered  "with  a  miserable 
headache  and  stomach  complaint,"  and  apparently  did  little  else  than 

"  View  that  noble,  stately  dome 
Where  Scotia's  kings  of  other  years, 
Fam'd  heroes !  had  their  royal  home !  " 

and  make  himself  familiar  with  the  sights  of  the  historic  city. 

He  found  a  warm  welcome  among  the  literary  celebrities  of  the  day,  —  Professor 
Stewart,  Professor  Blair,  Mr.  Mackenzie,  author  of  "The  Man  of  Feeling,"  and 
others.  Mr.  James  Dalrymple  of  Orangefield,  near  Ayr,  gave  him  an  introduction 
to  his  brother-in-law,  the  Earl  of  Glencairn,  through  whose  influence  he  was  brought 
before  the  Caledonian  Hunt,  a  society  of  the  Scottish  nobility.  In  a  letter  to 
Gavin  Hamilton,  dated  December  7,  he  wrote  : 

"  I  am  in  a  fair  way  of  becoming  as  eminent  as  Thomas  a  Kempis  or  John 
Bunyan  ;  and  you  may  expect  henceforth  to  see  my  birthday  inserted  among  the 
wonderful  events,  in  the  Poor  Robin's  and  Aberdeen  Almanacks,  along  with 
the  Black  Monday,  and  the  Battle  of  Bothwell  Bridge,  My  Lord  Glencairn  and 
the  Dean  of  Faculty,  Mr.  H.  Erskine,  have  taken  me  under  their  wing  ;  and  by 
all  probability  I  shall  soon  be  the  tenth  worthy,  and  the  eighth  wise  man  of  the 
world.  Through  my  Lord's  influence  it  is  inserted  in  tliC  records  of  the  Cale- 
donian Hunt,  that  they  universally,  one  and  all,  subscribe  for  the  second  edition." 

This  subscription,  amounting  to  a  hundred  guineas,  insured  the  success  of  the 
volume.  Private  individuals,  also,  subscribed  liberally,  one  taking  forty-two  copies, 
another  forty,  another  twenty,  at  five  shillings  each. 

As  an  enthusiastic  Freemason,  Burns  was  welcomed  to  the  Kilwinning  Lodge  of 
Edinburgh,  and  was  made  their  Poet  Laureate. 

There  are  a  number  of  descriptions  of  Burns  at  that  time.  Professor  Josiah 
Walker  described  him  as  strong  and  well-knit  in  person,  "much  superior  to  what 
might  be  expected  in  a  plowman  "  ;  his  stature  rather  above  middle  height,  though 
"from  want  of  setting  up"  it  seemed  to  be  "only  of  the  middle  size";  his  "  large, 
dark  eye,"  the  most  striking  index  of  his  character;  his  dress  simple,  plain,  but 
appropriate;   his  hair,  unpowdered,  was  tied  behind  and  spread  upon  his  forehead; 


xxvi  BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH. 

his  manner,  absolutely  free  from  affectation;  nor  did  his  conversation  or  behavior 
betray  "  that  he  had  been  for  some  months  the  favorite  of  all  the  fashionable  circles  of 
a  metropolis." 

Walter  Scott,  then  a  youth  of  sixteen,  met  him  at  the  house  of  Dr.  Adam  Ferguson, 
and  remembered  the  "dignified  plainness  and  simplicity  of  his  manners,"  the  "strong 
expression  of  strength  and  shrewdness  in  all  his  lineaments,"  and  above  all  his  large 
and  glowing  eye,  which  alone  seemed  to  indicate  his  "  poetical  character  and  tem- 
perament." 

Only  two  instances  are  on  record  where  he  allowed  himself  any  breach  of  eti- 
quette, and  they  were  not  serious.  Generally  he  was  welcomed  as  an  equal;  and  if 
he  shone  in  conversation  in  the  more  polished  circles,  he  scintillated  in  the  free  and 
easy  life  of  the  taverns  and  the  lodges. 

While  he  was  correcting  his  proofs  he  was  puzzling  his  head  as  to  what  the  future 
had  in  store  for  him,  and  debating  whether  to  go  to  farming  again. 

Burns  recognized  that  he  was  out  of  place  in  Edinburgh.  There  was  nothing  for 
him  to  do;  his  rustic  training  had  not  fitted  him  for  city  life;  there  was  no  field  for 
literary  work.  He  was  out  of  his  element;  like  the  fabled  Antaeus,  he  had  need  to 
be  in  contact  with  mother  earth  to  find  his  strength.  City  pavements  offer  to  such  a 
bard  no  inspiration.  He  was  weary  of  adulation;  he  was  too  independent  to  live 
happily  at  the  table  of  Patronage. 

Dr.  Lawrie  warned  him  against  the  dangers  of  his  new  life.     Burns  replied : 

*'  I  thank  you,  Sir,  with  all  my  soul  for  your  friendly  hints,  though  I  do  not  need 
them  so  much  as  my  friends  are  apt  to  imagine.  You  are  dazzled  with  newspaper 
accounts  and  distant  reports;  but  in  reality,  I  have  no  great  temptation  to  be  intoxi- 
cated with  the  cup  of  prosperity." 

The  Earl  of  Buchan  advised  Burns  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  chief  battle-fields  of 
Scotland.  He  replied  that  he  wished  for  nothing  more  than  a  leisurely  tour  through 
his  native  land,  "  to  fire  his  muse  at  Scottish  story  and  Scottish  scenes,"  but  he 
declared  that  Wisdom,  "  a  long-visaged,  dry,  moral-phantom,"  whose  home  was  with 
Prudence,  gave  him  different  advice;   and  he  added : 

*'  I  must  return  to  my  humble  station,  and  woo  my  rustic  muse  in  my  wonted  way 
at  the  plough-tail." 

The  same  "Utopian  thoughts"  he  expressed  to  Mrs.  Dunlop.  "The  appellation 
of  a  Scottish  bard  is  by  far  my  highest  pride;  to  continue  to  deserve  it  is  my  most  ex- 
alted ambition,  Scottish  scenes  and  Scottish  story  are  the  themes  I  could  wish  tc 
sing.  I  have  no  dearer  aim  than  to  have  it  in  my  power,  unplagued  with  the  routine 
of  business,  for  which  Heaven  knows  I  am  unfit  enough,  to  make  leisurely  pilgrim- 
ages through  Caledonia;  to  sit  on  the  fields  of  her  battles;  to  wander  on  the  romantic 
banks  of  her  rivers;  and  to  muse  by  the  stately  towers  or  venerable  ruins  once  the 
honored  abodes  of  her  heroes." 

But  again  the  idea  of  his  true  station  in  life  comes  to  him;  besides,  he  had  "an 
aged  mother  to  care  for,  and  some  other  bosom  ties  perhaps  equally  tender." 

The  volume  appeared  toward  the  last  of  April,  1787.  Twenty-eight  hundred 
copies  were  taken  by  subscription,  and  Burns's  share  of  the  profits  was  about  five 
hundred  pounds. 

This  little  fortune  seemed  to  justify   Burns  in   undertaking    the  pilgrimages  for 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH.  xxvii 

which  he  yearned,  before  he  should  settle  down  to  his  farming  again.  On  the  fifth 
of  May,  in  company  with  Robert  Ainslie,  he  set  forth  on  his  "  auld,  ga'd  gleyde  o'  a 
meere,"  for  a  long  ride.  They  spent  the  next  day,  which  was  Sunday,  at  Berry  Well, 
with  Ainslie's  family;  at  church  Miss  Ainslie  tried  to  find  the  text,  which  was  in  con- 
demnation of  obstinate  sinners.  Burns  seeing  it,  wrote  these  lines  on  a  piece  of 
paper  and  handed  them  to  her : 

"  Fair  maid,  you  need  not  take  the  hint, 
Nor  idle  texts  pursue  : 
'T  was  guilty  sinners  that  he  meant, 
Not  angels  such  as  you !  " 

At  Jedburgh  he  was  presented  with  the  freedom  of  the  town,  an  honor  which  he 
prized  much  less  than  the  privilege  of  a  walk  with  Miss  Isabella  Lindsay,  whose 
"beautiful  hazel  eyes  "  bewitched  him.  They  rode  up  the  Tweed  and  the  Ettrick, 
and  spent  a  night  at  Selkirk,  where  afterwards  Scott  served  as  Sheriff.  Here  they 
found  some  gentlemen  drinking  at  Veitch's  Inn  and  proposed  to  join  them  ;  but 
when  the  landlord  said  that  one  spoke  rather  like  a  gentleman,  but  the  other  was  "a 
drover-looking  chap,"  the  gentlemen  declined  their  company,  to  the  life-long  regret 
of  at  least  one  of  them.  At  Selkirk  he  wrote  the  rhymed  epistle  to  his  publisher, 
William  Creech,  beginning,  "Auld  chuckle  Reekie's  sair  distrest." 

During  the  trip  Burns,  for  the  first  and  only  time,  set  foot  on  English  soil.  On 
the  eighth  of  June,  after  a  delightful  trip,  having  "  dander'd  owre  a'  the  Kintra  frae 
Dumbar  to  Selcraig,  an'  fore-gather'd  wi'  mony  a  guid  fallow  an'  monie  a  weel  far'd 
hizzie,"  he  reached  his  home  at  Mauchline.  He  who  had  left  them  in  disgrace,  came 
back  the  most  distinguished  man  in  Scotland.  The  money  and  the  fame  placed  him 
in  a  different  light.  Even  old  Armour  forgot  his  resentment;  and  this  made  Burns 
angry,  as  is  seen  by  a  letter  which  he  dated  June  1 1,  1787  : 

"I  date  this  from  Mauchline,  where  I  arrived  on  Friday  even  last.  If  anything 
had  been  wanting  to  disgust  me  completely  at  Armour's  family,  their  mean,  servile 
compliance  would  have  done  it." 

In  this  unsettled  state  of  mind  he  left  Mauchline  toward  the  last  of  June,  and  went 
to  the  West  Highlands,  where  he  apparently  found  little  to  please  him :   "  a  country 
where  savage  streams  tumble  over  savage  mountains,  thinly  overspread  with  savage 
flocks,  which  starvingly  support  as  savage  inhabitants."     At  Inveraray,  where  he  com' 
find  no  shelter,  he  composed  these  bitter  lines : 

"  Whoe'er  he  be  that  sojourns  here, 
I  pity  much  his  case. 
Unless  he  come  to  wait  upon 
The  Lord  their  God,  his  Grace. 

There  's  naething  here  but  Highland  pride. 

And  Highland  scab  and  hunger  ; 
If  Providence  has  sent  me  here, 

'T  was  surely  in  an  anger." 


xxviii  BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH. 

But  later  he  found  boon  companions  and  the  sort  of  wild  dissipation  which  for  a 
time  caused  him  to  forget  his  errors.  He  tells  on  one  occasion  when  they  danced 
till  three  in  the  morning,  and  how  "  they  ranged  jund  the  bowl  till  the  good-fellow 
hour  of  six." 

The  next  day  they  again  "  pushed  the  bottle,"  and  finding  themselves  "  not  ma  fou 
but  gaylie  yet,"  they  tried  to  outgallop  a  Highlandman  who  had  a  tolerably  good 
horse.  But  the  race  ended  in  a  bad  tumble.  "  His  horse,  which  had  never  known 
the  ornaments  of  iron  or  leather,  zigzagged  across  before  my  old  spavin'd  hunter, 
whose  name  was  Jenny  Geddes,  and  down  came  the  Highlandman,  horse  and  all, 
and  down  came  Jenny  and  my  hardship;  so  I  have  got  such  a  skinful  of  bruises 
and  wounds,  that  I  shall  be  at  least  four  weeks  before  I  dare  venture  on  my  journey 
to  Edinburgh."  "  I  came  off,"  he  says  in  another  letter,  "  with  a  few  cuts  and 
bruises,  and  a  thorough  resolution  to  be  a  pattern  of  sobriety  for  the  future." 

Unconsciously  to  himself  he  had  woven  a  net  at  Mauchline  which  was  to  entangle 
him.  He  had  renewed  his  intimacy  with  Jean  Armour.  It  was  while  he  was  at 
Mossgiel  on  his  return  from  this  escapade,  that  he  wrote  his  autobiographical  letter 
to  Dr.  Moore. 

In  August  he  returned  to  Edinburgh,  and  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  the  month  started 
with  "  a  truly  original  but  very  worthy  man,  a  Mr.  Nicol,  one  of  the  masters  of  the 
high  school  in  Edinburgh,"  on  a  twenty-two  days'  trip  or  "  near  six  hundred  miles," 
through  the  Highlands.     On  the  twenty-sixth  he  wrote  : 

"  This  morning  I  knelt  at  the  tomb  of  Sir  John  the  Graham,  the  gallant  friend  of 
the  immortal  Wallace;  and  two  hours  ago  I  said  a  fervent  prayer  for  Old  Caledonia 
over  the  hole  in  a  blue  whinstone,  where  Robert  de  Bruce  fixed  his  royal  standard  on 
the  banks  of  Bannockburn;  and  just  now,  from  Stirling  Castle,  I  have  seen  by  the 
setting  sun  the  glorious  prospect  of  the  windings  of  Forth,  through  the  rich  carse  of 
Stirling,  and  skirting  the  equally  rich  carse  of  Falkirk." 

He  described  his  trip  not  only  in  various  letters,  but  also  in  a  jotted  diary,  so  that 
all  his  steps  are  known. 

At  Blair  Athole,  where  he  was  so  cordially  welcomed  by  "  honest  men  and  bonnie 
lasses,"  he  left  behind  him  the  poem  entitled,  "  The  Humble  Petition  of  Bruar 
Water."  The  Earl  carried  out  the  idea,  and  "  shaded  the  banks  wi'  tow'ring  trees 
and  bonnie  spreading  bushes." 

At  Stirling  he  inscribed  on  the  window-pane  of  a  tavern  with  a  recently  purchased 
diamond  ring  these  lines  : 

"  Here  Stewarts  once  in  glory  reign'd, 
And  laws  for  Scotland's  weal  ordair'd; 
But  now  unroof'd  their  palace  stands, 
Their  sceptre  fallen  to  other  hands; 
The  injured  Stewart  line  is  gone, 
A  race  outlandish  fills  their  throne  : 
An  idiot  race,  to  honor  lost  — 
Who  knows  them  best  despise  them  most." 

The  minister  ot  Gladsmuir  attacked  him  for  the  treason  thus  expressed,  and  Burns 
replied  with  another  epigram : 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 


"  With  Esop's  lion,  Burns  says  :  — '  Sore  I  feel 
Each  other  blow:   but  damn  that  ass's  heel.'  " 

In  October,  after  his  return  to  Edinburgh,  he  started  on  another  tour,  this  time 
with  his  friend  Dr.  Adair. 

At  Clackmannan  they  visited  Mrs.  Bruce,  who  had  the  helmet  and  sword  of  the 
great  chieftain,  from  whom  she  inherited  it.  She  conferred  knighthood  on  the  two 
travellers,  remarking  that  she  had  a  better  right  to  give  the  honor  than  some  people 
had.  At  Stirling,  Burns,  who  had  been  told  that  his  treasonable  lines  might  affect 
his  prospects,  broke  the  pane  of  glass,  and  indulged  in  a  still  bitterer  epigram. 
Neither  was   forgotten : 

"  Rash  mortal,  and  slanderous  poet,  thy  name 
Shall  no  longer  appear  in  the  records  of  Fame  ! 
Dost  not  know  that  old  Mansfield,  who  writes  like  the  Bible, 
Says,  the  more  't  is  a  truth.  Sir,  the  more  't  is  a  libel?  " 

At  Harvieston  he  enjoyed  a  visit  to  "  the  accomplished  "  Miss  Margaret  Chalmers, 
whom  he  immortalized  as  Peggy  in  the  two  songs  entitled  "  Peggy's  Charms."  He 
spent  two  days  at  Ochtertyre  on  the  Teith,  surprising  every  one  by  his  «"  flashes  of 
intellectual  brightness,"  and  visited  Ochtertyre  in  Strathearn,  where  he  wrote  the 
poem,  "  On  Scaring  some  Water-fowl  in  Loch  Turit,"  and  the  song  to  Miss  Euphemia 
Murray  of  Lintrove,  known  as  "  the  Flower  of  Strathearn  " : 

"  Blythe,  blythe  and  merry  was  she, 
Blythe  was  she  butt  and  ben : 
Blythe  by  the  banks  of  Earn, 
And  blythe  in  Glenturit  glen." 

At  Dunfermline  they  visited  the  ruined  abbey,  and  Abbey  Church,  and  Burns 
from  the  pulpit  delivered  a  mock  reproof  and  exhortation  to  Dr.  Adair,  mounted  on 
the  "  cutty  stool,"  or  stool  of  repentance. 

Robert  Bruce  is  buried  in  the  churchyard,  under  two  broad  flagstones;  and  Burns, 
says  Dr.  Adair,  "  knelt  and  kissed  the  stone  with  sacred  fervor,  and  heartily  execrated 
the  worse  than  Gothic  neglect  of  the  first  of  Scottish  heroes." 

On  his  return  to  Edinburgh  he  was  still  undecided  whether  to  take  a  farm  of  Mr. 
Miller,  or  enter  into  partnership  with  his  brother  Gilbert,  who  was,  as  he  said,  an 
excellent  farmer,  and,  "  besides,  an  exceedingly  prudent,  sober  man."  Creech,  the 
publisher  of  his  poems,  was  slow  in  making  a  settlement;  there  were  rumors  of  his 
insolvency,  and  Burns  remained  in  town,  rooming  in  St.  James's  Square  with  Mr. 
William  Cruickshank. 

Early  in  December,  at  the  house  of  Miss  Nimmo,  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  a 
Mrs.  M'Lehose,  "  of  a  somewhat  voluptuous  style  of  beauty."  Her  maiden  name 
had  been  Agnes  Craig;  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  surgeon,  and  had  been  known  in 
Glasgow  society  as  "the  pretty  Miss  Nancy."  She  was  mariied  at  the  early  age  of 
seventeen  to  James  M'Lehose,  a  law-agent,  from  whom  she  separated  four  years  later. 
Her  husband  was  in  Jamaica.     She  was  a  poet. 


XXX  BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH. 

She  invited  Burns  to  take  tea  with  her  at  her  lodgings  on  the  evening  of  Saturday, 
December  8;  but  a  drunken  coachman  overset  him,  bruising  his  knees  so  that  he 
could  not  stir  out.     Burns  wrote  a  note  expressing  his  chagrin. 

Mrs.  M'Lehose  replied  that  if  she  were  his  sister  she  would  call  and  see  him ! 
She  also  enclosed  some  verses. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  a  perilous  friendship  which  ran  over  the  sea  of  passion, 
though  the  fair  widow  had  a  kedge-anchor  to  windward  in  her  intensely  religious 
nature. 

The  correspondence  between  Sylvander  and  Clarinda  (as  they  sentimentally 
called  themselves)  is  famous  in  the  history  of  literature. 

Mrs.  M'Lehose  long  outlived  Burns;  for  thirty  or  forty  years  she  was  said  to  be  in 
company  five-sevenths  of  the  time.  Those  who  saw  her  in  later  life  found  her  a 
short,  plain,  snuff-taking  little  woman.  But  to  the  last  she  worshipped  the  memory 
of  Burns,  and  lived  in  the  hope  that  they  should  meet  in  another  sphere  where  "love 
is  not  a  crime."  To  her  Burns  wrote  the  poem  in  which  he  called  her  "  the  fair  sun 
of  all  her  sex," 

Perhaps,  if  both  of  them  had  been  free.  Burns  might  have  married  "  Clarinda, 
mistress  of  his  soul,"  as  he  more  than  once  wrote ;  but  he  was  even  less  free  than  he 
supposed.  ^ 

In  February,  1788,  Burns  went  for  the  third  time  to  inspect  Mr.  Miller's  farms  at 
Dalswinton.  On  his  way  he  stopped  at  Mossgiel,  and  had  an  interview  with  Jean 
Armour,  then  wrote  in  regard  to  it  to  his  sympathizing  Clarinda : 

"  I,  this  morning  as  I  came  home,  called  for  a  certain  woman.  I  am  disgusted  with 
her.  I  cannot  endure  her.  I,  while  my  heart  smote  me  for  the  profanity,  tried  to 
compare  her  with  my  Clarinda  :  't  was  setting  the  expiring  glimmer  of  a  farthing  taper 
beside  the  cloudless  glory  of  the  meridian  sun.  Here  was  tasteless  insipidity,  vul- 
garity of  soul,  and  mercenary  fawning;  there,  polished  good  sense.  Heaven-born 
genius,  and  the  most  generous,  the  most  delicate,  the  most  tender  passion.  I  have 
done  with  her,  and  she  with  me." 

In  regard  to  the  same  interview  he  wrote  more  frankly  to  Robert  Ainslie : 

"  I  have  been  through  sore  tribulation,  and  under  much  buffeting  of  the  evil  one, 
since  I  came  to  this  country.  Jean  I  found  banished,  like  a  martyr,  —  forlorn,  destitute, 
and  friendless,  —  all  for  the  good  old  cause.  I  have  reconciled  her  to  her  fate;  I  have 
reconciled  her  to  her  mother;  I  have  taken  her  a  room;  I  have  taken  her  to  my 
arms;  I  have  given  her  a  mahogany  bed;  I  have  given  her  a  guinea;  and  I  have 
embraced  her  till  she  rejoiced  with  joy  unspeakable  and  full  of  glory.  But  —  as  I 
always  am  on  every  occasion  —  I  have  been  prudent  and  cautious  to  an  astounding  de- 
gree. I  swore  her  privately  and  solemnly  never  to  attempt  any  claim  on  me  as  a 
husband,  even  though  anybody  should  persuade  her  she  had  such  a  claim,  which  she 
had  not,  neither  during  my  life  nor  after  my  death.    She  did  all  this  like  a  good  girl." 

Such  conduct  requires  no  comment.  It  speaks  for  itself.  He  returned  to  Edin- 
burgh in  March,  and  on  the  fourteenth  of  the  month  he  wrote  to  Miss  Chalmers  that 
he  had  completed  a  bargain  for  the  farm  of  Ellisland  on  the  banks  of  the  Nith, 
between  five  and  six  miles  above  Dumfries. 

The  birth  and  death  of  a  second  pair  of  twins  seems  to  have  changed  his  opinions 
in  regard  to  Jean  Armour.    He  made  up  his  mind  that  "some  sacrifices"  were  neces- 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  xxm 

sary  for  his  peace  of  mind.  On  the  28th  of  April  he  wrote  Mr.  James  Smith,  "There 
is  a  certain  clean-limbed,  handsome,  bewitching  young  hussy  of  your  acquaintance, 
to  whom  I  have  lately  and  privately  given  a  matrimonial  title  to  my  corpus."  In  this 
letter  he  first  calls  Jean  Armour  Mrs.  Burns,  though  he  adds,  "  't  is  only  her  private 
designation." 

To  his  uncle  Samuel  Brown  he  wrote  whimsically:  "  It  would  be  a  vain  attempt 
for  me  to  enumerate  the  various  transactions  I  have  been  engaged  in  since  I  saw  you 
last;  but  this  know,  I  engaged  in  a  smuggling  trade,  and  God  knows  if  ever  any  poor 
man  experienced  better  returns  —  two  for  one;  but  as  freight  and  delivery  have 
turned  out  so  dear,  I  am  thinking  of  taking  out  a  license  and  beginning  in  fair  trade. 
I  have  taken  a  farm  on  the  borders  of  the  Xith,  and,  in  imitation  of  the  old  patri- 
archs, get  men-servants  and  maid-servants,  and  flocks  and  herds,  and  beget  sons  and 
daughters." 

In  June  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  from  EUisland,  telling  her  how  busy  he  was 
building  his  farmhouse,  digging  foundations,  carting  stones  and  lime,  and  dwelling 
"a  solitary  inmate  of  an  old,  smoky  spence;  far  from  every  object  I  love,  or  by  whom 
I  am  beloved;  nor  any  acquaintance  older  than  yesterday,  except  Jenny  Geddes,  the 
old  mare  I  ride  on;  while  uncouth  cares  and  novel  plans  hourly  insult  my  awkward 
ignorance  and  bashful  inexperience."  In  this  letter  he  confirmed  her  suspicions  that 
he  was  a  husband. 

Of  his  wife  he  says  : 

"The  most  placid  good-nature  and  sweetness  of  disposition;  a  warm  heart,  grate- 
fully devoted  with  all  its  powers  to  love  me;  vigorous  health  and  sprightly  cheerfulness, 
set  off  to  the  best  advantage  by  a  more  than  commonly  handsome  figure;  these,  I 
think,  in  a  woman,  may  make  a  good  wife,  though  she  should  never  have  read  a  page 
but  the  Scriptures  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament,  nor  have  danced  in  a  brighter 
assembly  than  a  penny  pay  wedding." 

Less  than  a  month  later  Burns  and  his  wife  appeared  before  the  Kirk  Session  and 
publicly  "acknowledged  their  irregular  marriage  and  their  sorrow  for  their  irregu- 
larity." The  Session  agreed  that  they  should  both  be  rebuked  and  "be  solemnly 
engaged  to  adhere  faithfully  to  one  another  as  man  and  wife  all  the  days  of  their 
life." 

While  he  was  building  his  house  and  qualifying  for  his  position  on  the  Excise,  to 
which  he  had  been  appointed,  he  left  his  wife  at  Mauchline  and  dwelt  alone  at  EUis- 
land. It  was  in  the  Honeymoon;  and,  as  Burns  says,  here  he  wrote  those  beautiful 
songs  to  his  Jean  : 

"  Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw 
I  dearly  like  the  west, 
For  there  the  bonie  lassie  lives. 
The  lassie  I  lo'e  best;" 
and 

"  O,  were  I  on  Parnassus  hill." 

Burns's  letters  during  this  time  are  filled  with  curious  contradictions.  He  tells 
Mrs.  Dunlop  that  he  might  easily  fancy  a  more  agreeable  companion  for  his  journey 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH. 


of  life.  He  writes  Mr.  Bengo  that  his  choice  was  as  random  as  blind-man's  buff.  He 
writes  Miss  Chalmers : 

"  Shortly  after  my  last  return  to  Ayrshire  I  married  *  My  Jean.'  This  was  not  in  con- 
sequence of  the  attachment  of  romance,  perhaps;  but  I  had  a  long  and  much  loved 
fellow-creature's  happiness  or  misery  in  my  determination,  and  I  durst  not  trifle  with 
so  important  a  deposit.  Nor  have  I  any  cause  to  repent  it.  If  I  have  not  got  polite 
tattle,  modish  manners,  and  fashionable  dress,  I  am  not  sickened  and  disgusted  with 
the  multiform  curse  of  boarding-school  affectation;  and  I  have  got  the  handsomest 
figure,  the  sweetest  temper,  the  soundest  constitution,  and  the  kindest  heart  in  the 
county." 

In  November  he  wrote  to  Dr.  Blacklock : 

*'I  am  more  and  more  pleased  with  the  step  I  took  respecting  *My  Jean.'  Two 
things,  from  my  happy  experience,  I  set  down  as  apophthegms  in  life,  —  A  wife's  head 
is  immaterial  compared  with  her  heart;  and,  'Virtue's  (for  wisdom,  what  poet  pre- 
tends to  it?)  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  all  her  paths  are  peace.'  " 

In  December  Jean  appeared  upon  the  scene,  bringing  her  household  belongings, 
including  a  four-post  bedstead,  a  gift  from  Mrs.  Dunlop,  and  a  faithful  servant-maid 
named  Elizabeth  Smith.  He  welcomed  her  with  the  poem  beginning,  "  I  hae  a  wife 
o'  my  ain." 

The  house  was  small,  but  Burns  was  on  the  whole  content.  This  was  the 
happiest  period  of  his  life.  He  was  comparatively  regular  in  his  habits,  though 
his  poem  of  "The  Whittle"  shows  that  he  occasionally  indulged  in  the  intoxicating 
bowl  after  the  universal  custom  of  the  day.  He  became  interested  in  the  local 
library,  for  which  he  ordered  the  Spectator,  the  Lounger,  Religious  Pieces,  and 
other  works  from  Edinburgh ;  and  he  still  took  an  interest  in  theological  matters, 
as  is  proved  by  his  satire  entitled,  "The  Kirk's  Alarm,"  occasioned  by  an  heretical 
work  by  Pastor  McGill. 

The  first  year  at  Ellisland  was  fairly  successful.  The  crops  turned  out  well; 
Major  Dunlop  sent  him  a  present  of  a  heifer;  Mr.  John  Tennant  forwarded  to 
him  a  cask  of  whiskey;   he  was  in  frequent  correspondence  with  his  friends. 

In  the  summer  of  1 790  Captain  Francis  Grose,  an  English  antiquary,  visited 
Scotland  and  made  Burns's  acquaintance.  To  him  was  indirectly  due  the  tale  of 
"Tam  o'  Shanter,"  that  famous"  masterpiece  of  Scottish  character,  Scottish  humor, 
Scottish  witchlore,  and  Scottish  imagination."  This  piece.  Burns  declared,  was 
"  his  standard  performance  in  the  poetical  line." 

In  the  same  year  Samuel  Egerton  Brydges,  the  poet,  visited  Burns  at  Ellis- 
land.     He  wrote: 

"  At  first  I  was  not  entirely  pleased  with  his  countenance.  I  thought  it  had  a  sort 
of  capricious  jealousy,  as  if  he  was  half  inclined  to  treat  me  as  an  intruder.  I 
resolved  to  bear  it,  and  try  if  I  could  humor  him.  I  let  him  choose  his  turn  of 
conversation,  but  said  a  word  about  the  friend  whose  letter  I  had  brought  to  him. 
It  was  now  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  an  autumn  day.  While  we 
were  talking,  Mrs.  Burns,  as  if  accustomed  to  entertain  visitors  in  this  way, 
brought  in  a  bottle  of  Scotch  whiskey,  and  set  the  table.  I  accepted  this  hospitality. 
I  could  not  help  observing  the  curious  glance  with  which  he  watched  me  at  the  en- 
trance of  this  sequel  of  homely  entertainment.    He  was  satisfied;  he  filled  our  glasses. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH. 


"•Here's  a  health  to  Auld  Caledonia.'  The  fire  sparkled  in  his  eye,  and 
mine  sympathetically  met  his.  He  shook  my  hands,  and  we  were  friends  at 
once.  Then  he  drank  '  Erin  forever,'  and  the  tear  of  delight  burst  from  his  eye. 
The  fountain  of  his  mind  and  his  heart  opened  at  once,  and  flowed  with  abundant 
force  almost  till  midnight. 

"  He  had  amazing  acuteness  of  intellect,  as  well  as  glow  of  sentiment.  I  do 
not  deny  that  he  said  some  absurd  things  and  many  coarse  ones,  and  that  his 
knowledge  was  very  irregular,  and  sometimes  too  presumptuous;  and  that  he  did 
not  endure  contradiction  with  sufficient  patience.  His  pride,  and  perhaps  his 
vanity,  was  even  morbid.  I  carefully  avoided  topics  in  which  he  could  not  take  an 
active  part.  Of  literary  gossip  he  knew  nothing,  and,  therefore,  kept  aloof  from 
it ;  in  the  technical  parts  of  literature,  his  opinions  were  crude  and  unformed ; 
but  whenever  he  spoke  of  a  great  writer  whom  he  had  read,  his  taste  was  gen- 
erally sound.  To  a  few  minor  writers  he  gave  more  credit  than  they  deserved. 
His  grand  beauty  was  his  manly  strength  and  his  energy  and  elevation  of  thought 
and  feeling.  He  had  always  a  full  mind,  and  all  flowed  from  a  genuine  spring.  I 
never  conversed  with  a  man  who  appeared  to  be  more  warmly  impressed  with 
the  beauties  of  Nature;  and  visions  of  female  beauty  and  tenderness  seemed  to 
transport  him.  He  did  not  merely  appear  to  be  a  poet  at  casual  intervals,  but 
at  every  moment  a  poetical  enthusiasm  seemed  to  beat  in  his  veins ;  and  he 
lived  all  his  days  the  inward,  if  not  the  outward,  life  of  a  poet." 

In  order  to  enable  his  brother  Gilbert  to  remain  at  Mossgiel,  Burns  advanced 
him  one  hundred  and  eighty  pounds :  the  rest  of  the  small  fortune  made  by  his 
poems  was  gradually  sunk  in  the  unsuccessful  conduct  of  the  farm. 

He  had  been  appointed  Exciseman;  and  his  duties,  on  a  salary  of  fifty 
pounds  a  year,  "  condemned  "  him,  as  he  expressed  it,  to  "  galop  "  over  ten  parishes 
"at  least  two  hundred  miles  every  week,  to  inspect  dirty  ponds  and  yeasty  barrels," 
These  absences,  and  frequent  attacks  of  illness;  a  lame  knee  and  a  broken  arm, 
occasioned  by  a  fall  "not  from  but  with"  his  horse;  "an  omnipotent  toothache," 
were  not  to  the  advantage  of  farming.  A  deranged  nervous  system,  resulting  in 
incessant  headache,  kept  him  ill  all  the  following  winter. 

He  determined  to  relinquish  his  "  curst  farm "  ;  and  as  Mr.  Miller  was  willing 
to  free  him  from  his  lease,  he  gave  it  up.  Toward  the  last  of  July,  1 791,  he 
sold  his  crops  at  an  average  of  a  guinea  an  acre  above  value.  Burns  writing  about  it 
to  a  friend,  said  : 

"But  such  a  scene  of  drunkenness  was  hardly  ever  seen  in  this  country.  After 
the  roup  was  over,  about  thirty  people  engaged  in  a  battle,  every  man  for  his 
own  hand,  and  fought  it  out  for  three  hours.  Nor  was  the  scene  much  better 
in  the  house.  No  fighting  indeed,  but  the  folks  lying  drunk  on  the  floor,  and 
decanting,  until  both  my  dogs  got  so  drunk  by  attending  on  them,  that  they 
could  not  stand.  You  will  easily  guess  how  I  enjoyed  the  scene,  as  I  was  no 
farther  over  than  you  used  to  see  me." 

In  November  he  was  appointed  excise-officer  for  the  district  of  Dumfries,  at  a 
salary  of  seventy  pounds  a  year,  and  the  hope  of  being  promoted  to  be  supervisor 
at  a  salary  of  two  hundred  pounds. 

He  sold  off  his  stock  and  farming  implements,    and   moved  to    a  small   house 


xxxiv  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 

in  the  Wee  Vennel  of  Dumfries.  The  thought  of  Burns  at  the  plough  awakens  a 
pleasurable  picture  ;  we  remember  his  poem  to  the  Mountain  Daisy,  and  the  Field 
Mouse.  But  Burns  as  a  ganger  of  ardent  spirits  is  pathetic  ;  it  connects  him  too 
directly  with  the  indecent  wit  and  vulgar  lowness  of  "The  Jolly  Beggars";  that 
move  was  a  step  toward  his  ruin. 

While  Mrs.  Burns  was  visiting  in  Ayrshire,  Burns  himself  was  still  lingering  at 
EUisiand,  and  for  no  good.  Annie  Park,  the  fair  niece  of  the  hostess  of  the  Globe 
Tavern,  had  met  his  eye.  To  her  he  wrote  the  song,  "The  Gowden  Locks  of  Anna," 
with  its  impudent,  reckless  postscript.  The  price  of  that  song  was  a  soul.  When 
Burns  tried  to  get  his  brother  to  take  the  helpless  babe,  who  was  born  of  his  intrigue, 
Mrs.  Burns,  with  characteristic  magnanimity,  insisted  on  adopting  the  little  girl,  and 
became  very  fond  of  her.  She  was  the  image  of  her  father;  she  made  an  excellent 
marriage,  and  lived  till  within  a  few  years  ago. 

Before  he  settled  in  Dumfries,  Burns  visited  Edinburgh  for  the  last  time,  and 
saw  his  beloved  "  Clarinda,"  with  whom  he  had  kept  up  an  infrequent  corre- 
spondence. She  was  about  to  sail  for  Jamaica  to  join  her  "  repentant  but  worth- 
less husband."  This  episode  gave  rise  to  the  songs :  "  Aince  Mair  I  hail  thee, 
thou  Gloomy  December,"  "  Behold  the  Hour,  the  Boat  arrive,"  "  Ae  Fond  Kiss 
and  then  we  sever,"  and  "  My  Name's  Awa'."  Burns  wrote  her  that  whenever  he 
was  called  upon  to  give  a  toast,  he  regularly  proposed,  "  Mrs.  Mac,"  or  "  Clarinda," 
though  he  kept  them  all  in  the  dark  as  to  whom  he  meant  by  it. 

Fortunately,  Mrs.  Burns  was  not  a  jealous  woman;  for  her  husband's  susceptible 
heart,  not  "  vitrified  "  as  he  once  feared  it  was,  found  constant  fuel  in  Dumfries. 

In  August,  1792,  he  wrote  Mrs.  Dunlop  that  he  was  "in  love,  souse !  over  head 
and  ears,  deep  as  the  most  unfathomable  abyss  of  the  boundless  ocean,"  with  her 
neighbor.  Miss  Lesley  Baillie.  The  young  lady,  on  her  way  to  England  with  her 
father  and  sister,  called  on  him.  Burns  rode  fourteen  or  fifteen  miles  with  them,  and 
on  his  way  back  composed  the  song : 

"  O,  saw  ye  bonie  Lesley 
As  she  gaed  o'er  the  border: " 

a  sort  of  parody  on  the  old  ballad : 

"  My  bonnie  Lizie  Baillie, 
I  '11  rowe  thee  in  my  plaidie." 

The  very  next  month  Mr.  George  Thomson,  clerk  to  the  Board  of  Trustees  for 
the  Encouragement  of  Manufactures  in  Scotland,  who  was  interested  in  publishing  a 
collection  of  Scots  songs,  wrote  to  enlist  Burns  in  his  scheme.  Burns  replied  that  he 
would  do  so  on  three  conditions :  that  he  should  not  be  hurried  (was  not  his  crest  a 
slow-worm  supported  by  two  sloths,  and  his  motto  "De'il  tak' the  Foremost"?); 
that  he  need  not  be  expected  to  write  English  verses;  and  that  he  should  not  be 
paid  for  them. 

Mr.  Thomson's  work  was  published  in  1801-2;  and  Burns,  in  the  course  of  four 
years,  contributed  at  least  a  hundred  songs  !  Once  five  pounds  was  sent  to  him,  and 
Burns  replied,  "  I  assure  you,  my  dear  sir,  that  you  truly  hurt  me  with  your  pecuniary 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH.  xxxv 

parcel.  It  degrades  me  in  my  own  eyes !  "  and  he  threatened  that  "  any  more  traffic 
of  that  debtor  and  creditor  kind  "  would  break  off  their  friendship.  He  so  loved  the 
work  that  he  felt  that  any  talk  of  money,  wages,  fee,  hire,  and  such  like  would  be 
downright  "  prostitution  of  soul  "  ! 

He  seems  to  have  made  an  effort  to  cure  himself  of  hard  drinking.  In  December 
he  wrote  Mrs.  Dunlop  : 

"As  to  myself,  I  am  better,  though  not  quite  free  of  my  complaint.  You  must 
not  think,  as  you  seem  to  insinuate,  that  in  my  way  of  life  I  want  exercise.  Of  that  I 
have  enough;  but  occasionally  hard  drinking  is  the  devil  to  me.  Against  this  I  have 
again  and  again  bent  my  resolution,  and  have  greatly  succeeded.  Taverns  I  have 
totally  abandoned:  it  is  the  private  parties  in  the  family  way,  among  the  hard-drink- 
ing gentlemen  of  this  country,  that  do  me  the  mischief;  but  even  this  I  have  more 
than  half  given  over." 

Dumfries  was  then,  says  Chalmers,  "  a  great  stage  on  the  road  from  England  to 
the  North  of  Ireland."  Visitors  were  apt  to  send  for  Burns  to  meet  them  and  drink 
with  them.  He  had  not  the  will-power  to  resist.  Early  one  summer  morning  one 
of  his  neighbors  just  getting  to  work  received  a  visit  from  him  as  he  was  staggering 
home  from  some  such  debauch.     The  poet  said : 

"  O  George  !  you  are  a  happy  man.  You  have  risen  from  refreshing  sleep  and  left 
a  kind  wife  and  children,  while  I  am  returning,  a  self-condemned  wretch,  to  mine  I  " 

Yet  he  was  not  neglectful  of  his  duties.  In  February,  1792,  a  contraband  brig  was 
discovered  in  Solway  Frith.  Burns  sent  for  a  squad  of  dragoons,  put  himself  at 
their  head,  and  was  the  first  to  board  her.  In  spite  of  superior  numbers  opposed  to 
him,  he  made  himself  master  of  her :  the  brig  was  next  day  sold  with  all  her 
contents. 

While  his  messenger,  a  man  named  Lewars,  was  gone  for  the  dragoons,  Burns 
composed  the  poem,  "  The  De'il's  Awa'." 

'*  The  De'il  cam'  fiddling  thro*  the  town, 
And  danc'd  awa'  wi'  the  Exciseman." 

In  spite  of  such  zeal  he  had  ruined  his  chances  —  slim  though  they  were  —  of 
becoming  a  supervisor.  In  the  preceding  December  the  Board  was  ordered  to 
inquire  into  his  political  conduct;  and  he  wrote  a  pitiful  appeal  to  Mr.  Robert 
Graham,  not  so  much  for  himself  as  in  behalf  of  "  the  much-loved  wife  of  his  bosom 
and  his  helpless,  prattling  little  ones,"  likely  to  be  "  turned  adrift  into  the  world, 
degraded  and  disgraced."  He  declared  that  the  attack  upon  him  arose  from  "the 
damned  dark  insinuations  of  hellish,  groundless  envy." 

Yet  there  was  some  ground  for  suspicion  of  him.  It  was  known  that  he  looked 
with  favor  on  the  Revolutionary  party  in  France:  that  he  had  sent  to  the  French 
Convention  a  present  of  four  small  cannon,  for  which  he  paid  three  pounds.  At  a 
dinner  party,  when  the  toast  to  Pitt  was  proposed.  Burns  gave  "  the  health  of  George 
Washington,  a  better  man."  In  his  cups  he  indulged  in  sarcasms  and  rampant 
radicalism.  Epigrams  of  his  were  in  circulation.  For  such  a  man  promotion  was 
out  of  the  question.  At  one  time  the  good  people  of  Dumfries  even  refused  to  recog- 
nize him  on  the  street. 

At  heart  he  was  sound  enough.     He  wrote  to  Mr.  Graham:     "To  the  British 


xxxvi  BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH. 


Constitution,  on  revolution  principles,  next  after  my  God,  I  am  most  devoutly  at- 
tached; "  and  vi'hen  there  seemed  to  be  some  danger  of  a  French  invasion,  he 
published  in  the  Diunfries  Jotirnal  (May  5,  1795)  the  immensely  popular  song 
"  Does  Haughty  Gaul  Invasion  Threat?  "  He  also  joined  the  Dumfries  volunteers, 
and  vfoxe.  the  uniform  of  kersey  breeches,  blue  coat,  and  round  hat. 

In  July,  1793,  Burns,  ia  company  with  Mr,  Syme,  stamp  distributor,  made  an 
excursion  into  Galloway,  and,  during  a  thunder  storm  on  the  wilds  of  Kenmore, 
composed  his  famous  song,  "  Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled." 

At  Whitsuntide  of  this  year  he  had  moved  his  family  into  a  larger  and  better 
house  in  the  Mill-hole  Brae,  afterward  named  Burns  Street.  The  rent  was  eight 
pounds  a  year. 

During  all  these  months  he  was  constantly  inspired  to  compose  songs  for  Mr. 
Thomson's  collection. 

Among  the  fair  ladies  in  w^hose  honor  he  wrote,  was  Miss  Jean  Lorimer,  whom  he 
celebrated  in  a  dozen  songs  under  the  name  of  Chloris,  because  of  her  light  flaxen 
hair :  "  Lassie  wi'  the  Lint-white  Locks  "  is  one  of  the  most  popular  of  them.  Still 
another  was  Mrs.  Lucy  Oswald,  of  Ayrshire,  on  whom  he  wrote  the  song  beginning  : 

"  O,  wat  ye  wha 's  in  yon  town. 
Ye  see  the  e'enin'  sun  upon? 
The  dearest  maid  's  in  yon  town 
That  e'enin'  sun  is  shining  on." 

Still  another  was  Mrs.  Maria  Riddell,  of  Woodley  Park,  only  eighteen,  and,  like 
Clarinda,  a  poet.  Burns  called  her  "  the  most  amiable  of  her  sex."  She  and  her 
husband  made  Burns  welcome  at  their  table.  On  one  occasion,  w^hen  all  the  men 
had  been  drinking  (as  usual)  heavily,  Burns  went  with  the  rest  to  the  drawing-room, 
and,  entirely  forgetting  himself,  marched  up  to  his  hostess  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 
The  scene  may  be  imagined  !  The  next  morning  he  wrote  to  her  a  most  abject  letter 
of  apology,  in  which  he  says  : 

"If  I  could  in  any  measure  be  reinstated  in  the  good  opinion  of  the  fair  circle 
whom  my  conduct  last  night  so  much  injured,  I  think  it  would  be  an  alleviation  to  my 
torments.  For  this  reason  I  trouble  you  with  this  letter.  To  the  men  of  the  com- 
pany I  will  make  no  apology.  Your  husband,  who  insisted  on  my  drinking  more  than 
I  chose,  has  no  right  to  blame  me;  and  the  other  gentlemen  were  partakers  of  my 
guilt.  But  to  you,  Madam,  I  have  much  to  apologize.  Your  good  opinion  I  valued 
as  one  of  the  greatest  acquisitions  I  had  made  on  earth,  and  I  was  truly  a  beast  to 
forfeit  it. " 

Captain  Riddell  never  forgave  Burns.  He  died  a  few  months  later.  Unfor- 
tunately, Burns,  exasperated  at  what  he  considered  unfair  treatment,  wrote  several 
cruel  epigrams  upon  Mrs.  Riddell,  w^hich  he  afterward  deeply  regretted. 

Even  such  a  severe  warning  had  no  lasting  effect  upon  him,  nor  the  fact  that  he 
saw  his  health  was  failing.  On  December  29,  1795,  he  wrote  Mrs.  Dunlop :  "Very 
lately  I  was  a  boy;  but  t'  other  day  I  \\as  a  young  man;  and  I  already  begin  to  feel 
the  rigid  fibre  and  stiffening  joints  of  old  age  coming  fast  over  my  frame."  Other 
letters  presage  his  early  death. 

In  the  following  January  he  stayed  late  at  the  tavern  with  boon  companions,  per- 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH.  xxxviv 

haps  trying  to  drown  his  sorrow  at  the  recent  loss  of  his  daughter,  his  "sweet  little 
girl."  On  his  way  home  he  was  overcome  with  drowsiness,  sat  down  in  the  snow,  and 
fell  asleep.  The  exposure  brought  on  an  attack  of  rheumatic  fever,  which  kept  him 
in  bed  all  the  rest  of  the  winter,  and  ended  in  what  he  dreaded  —  in  "flying  gout, — 
a  sad  business." 

Even  in  June  he  wrote  Mrs.  Riddell,  who  had  gradually  restored  to  him  her 
favor  : 

"  Racked  as  I  am  with  rheumatisms,  I  meet  every  face  with  a  greeting  like  that  of 
Balak  to  Balaam:  *Come,  curse  me  Jacob;  and  come,  defy  Israel!'  So  say  I: 
Come,  curse  me  that  east  wind;  and  come,  defy  me  the  north!  Would  you  have  me 
in  such  circumstances  copy  you  out  a  love-song?  " 

On  the  fourth  of  July  he  was  taken  to  Brow  on  the  Solway,  where  Mrs.  Riddell 
was  staying.  She  called  upon  him  and  saw  that  "  the  stamp  of  death  was  imprinted 
on  his  features.     He  seemed  already  touching  the  brink  of  eternity." 

His  first  greeting  was,  "  Well,  Madam,  have  you  any  commands  for  the  other 
world?"  She  wrote  these  details  to  a  friend  of  hers,  and  told  how  anxious  Burns 
seemed  about  his  family,  and  how  concerned  about  the  care  of  his  literary  fame. 
He  wished  that  such  letters  and  verses  as  had  been  written  with  unguarded  and 
improper  freedom  might  be  burned  in  oblivion. 

"  He  lamented,"  she  wrote,  "  that  he  had  written  many  epigrams  on  persons 
against  whom  he  entertained  no  enmity,  and  whose  characters  he  should  be  sorry 
to  wound;  and  many  indifferent  poetical  pieces,  which  he  feared  would  now,  with  all 
their  imperfections  on  their  head,  be  thrust  upon  the  world." 

On  the  seventh  of  July  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Cunningham  urging  him  to  use  his  influence 
that  his  full  salary  might  be  paid  him  while  he  was  on  the  sick-list,  —  his  salary  as 
Exciseman  being  reduced,  while  off  duty,  to  ;!^35  instead  of  ^^^50. 

Less  than  a  week  later  he  wrote  his  cousin,  Mr.  James  Burness,  appealing  for 
assistance.  His  cousin  immediately  sent  him  ten  pounds,  and  afterward  offered  to 
bring  up  and  educate  his  son  Robert. 

Then  he  put  his  pride  into  his  pocket,  and  "  implored  "  Mr.  G.  Thomson  for  five 
pounds,  promising,  if  he  recovered,  to  furnish  him  with  "  five  pounds'  worth  of  the 
neatest  song  genius  "  he  had  seen.     That  morning  he  wrote  his  last  song  : 

"  Fairest  maid  on  Devon  banks, 
Crystal  Devon,  winding  Devon, 
Wilt  thou  lay  that  frown  aside, 

And  smile  as  thou  wert  wont  to  do?  " 

On  the  eighteenth  he  returned  to  Dumfries  in  a  small  spring  cart.  When  he 
alighted,  he  could  not  stand.  He  immediately  wrote  his  father-in-law  —  it  was  his 
last  letter : 

"  Do,  for  Heaven's  sake,  send  Mrs.  Armour  here  immediately.  My  wife  is  hourly 
expecting  to  be  put  to  bed.  Good  God  !  what  a  situation  for  her  to  be  in,  poor  girl, 
without  a  friend  !  I  returned  from  sea-bathing  quarters  to-day,  and  my  medical 
friends  would  almost  persuade  me  that  I  am  better;  but  I  think  and  feel  that  my 
strength  is  so  gone  that  the  disorder  will  prove  fatal  to  me." 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH. 


His  children  were  sent  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Lewars.  Miss  Jessie  Lewars,  of 
whom  he  had  written  some  of  his  sweetest  songs,  was  sleepless  in  her  attendance 
upon  him. 

On  the  twenty-first  he  became  delirious.  His  children  were  allowed  to  see  him 
for  the  last  time.  He  died  (July  21,  1796),  with  an  execration  upon  the  legal  agent 
whose  threats  had  troubled  him. 

On  the  evening  of  July  25  his  remains  were  taken  to  the  Town  Hall,  and  the 
funeral  was  conducted  on  the  following  day.  Several  regiments  of  infantry  and  cav- 
alry assisted  in  the  obsequies,  which  were  solemn  and  impressive.  A  long  procession 
marched  between  rows  of  military  to  the  sound  of  the  Dead  March  in  Saul.  Three 
volleys  were  fired  over  the  grave. 

During  the  service  Burns's  posthumous  son,  Maxwell,  was  born  —  a  pathetic 
incident. 

Burns  himself  predicted  that  he  should  be  better  understood  a  hundred  years  later. 
He  had  not  to  wait  a  hundred  years. 

Henry  MacKenzie,  author  of  "The  Man  of  Feeling,"  in  an  article  in  the  Lounger, 
early  compared  him  to  Shakspere;  not  in  range  of  genius,  but  in  magnanimity  and 
unaffected  character,  in  vigor  and  power.  Hazlitt,  who  uses  almost  precisely  the 
same  words,  says  in  addition:  "He  was  as  much  of  a  man,  not  the  twentieth  part  of 
a  poet,  as  Shakspere.  .  .  .  He  had  an  eye  to  see,  a  heart  to  feel  —  no  more.  His 
strength  is  not  greater  than  his  weakness;  his  virtues  were  greater  than  his  vices; 
his  virtues  belonged  to  his  genius;  his  vices  to  his  situation,  which  did  not  correspond 
to  his  genius." 

Lord  Jeffrey  predicted  that  the  name  of  Burns  would  endure  long  after  the  circum- 
stances that  contributed  to  its  notoriety  were  forgotten. 

A  writer  in  the  Universal  Magazine  in  1 809  said:  "He  dipt  his  pencil  in  the 
living  tints  of  Nature.  .  .  .  Like  Shakspere,  the  current  of  his  inspiration  was  un- 
checked by  the  cold  niceties  of  critical  perfection;  it  flowed  impetuously  onward, 
sometimes  spreading  into  magnificence  and  beauty;  sometimes  meandering  in  peace- 
ful murmurs,  and  sometimes  rushing  with  sublime  energy  over  precipices  and  rocks, 
forming  the  thundering  cataracts  or  the  eddying  whirlpool." 

Mrs.  Oliphant  declares :  ".  Not  even  for  a  second  Shakspere  could  we  let  go  our 
Burns;  "  and  she  adds:  "If  ever  man  was  anointed  and  consecrated  to  a  special 
work  in  this  world,  for  which  all  his  antecedents,  all  his  training,  all  his  surrounding 
circumstances,  combined  to  fit  him,  Robert  Burns  was  that  man." 

Carlyle  called  him  "a  rugged  Saxon  brother,  one  of  the  strongest,  noblest  men  — 
a  Scottish  Thor,  a  true  Peasant-Thunder-God." 

Almost  all  men  have  given  equally  high  tribute  to  Burns.  He  is  the  idol  of  the 
Scotch;   his  poems,  next  to  the  Bible,  are  their  consolation  and  delight. 

In  the  splendor  of  their  richness,  Burns's  faults  are  almost  forgotten,  or  are  taken 
as  a  lesson.  They  were  the  faults  of  his  age.  Burns  left  in  his  own  writings  the  ideal 
to  which  he  would  fain  have  reached.     Let  us  judge  him  by  that. 


Nathan  Haskell  Dole. 


POEMS    OF    ROBERT    BURNS. 


KILMARNOCK    i;86.. 


THE  TWA  DOGS. 

A  Tale 

[According  to  Gilbert  Burns,  the  tale 
of  "  The  Twa  Dogs  "  was  "  composed  after 
the  resolution  of  publishing  was  nearly- 
taken."  During  tlie  night  before  the  death 
of  William  Burness,  Robert's  favorite  dog, 
Luath,  was  killed  by  some  person  unknown. 
Caesar  was  merely  the  creature  of  the  poet's 
imagination.  It  was  Luath's  successor, 
whose  appearance  at  the  "  penny  dance " 
at  Mauchline  led  Burns  to  remark  that  "  he 
wished  he  could  get  any  of  the  lasses  to 
like  him  as  well  as  his  dog  did."] 

'T  AVAS  in  that  place  o'  Scotland's  isle 
That  bears  the  name  of  auld  King 

Coil, 
Upon  a  bonie  day  in  June, 
When  wearing  thro'  the  afternoon, 
Twa   dogs,  that  were  na  thrang   at 

hame. 
Forgathered  ance  upon  a  time. 

The   first   I  '11  name,  they  ca'd   him 

Caesar, 
Was  keepit  for '  his  Honor's '  pleasure  : 
His  hair,  his  size,  his  mouth,  his  lugs, 
Shew'd    he   was    nane   o'   Scotland's 

dogs  ; 
But  whalpit  some  place  far  abroad, 
Whare  sailors  grang;  to  fish  for  cod. 


His  locked,  lettered,  braw  brass  collar 
Shew'd     him     the     gentleman     an' 
scholar ; 


But  tho'  he  was  o'  high  degree. 
The  fient  a  pride,  nae  pride  had  he; 
But  wad  hae  spent  an  hour  caressin, 
Ev'n  wi'  a  tinkler-gipsy's  messin  ; 
At  kirk  or  market,  mill  or  smiddie, 
Nae  tawted  tyke,  tho'  e'er  sae  duddie, 
But  he  wad  stan't,  as  glad  to  sec  him, 
An'  stroan"t  on  stanes  an'  hillocks  wi' 
him. 

The  tither  was  a  ploughman's  collie, 
A  rhyming,  ranting,  raving  billie, 
Wha  for  his  friend  an"  comrade  had 

him, 
And    in  his  freaks    had  Luath    ca"d 

him. 
After  some  dog  in  Highland  sang, 
Was  made  lang  syne  —  Lord  knows 

how  lang. 

He  was  a  gash  an'  faithfu'  tyke, 
As  ever  lap  a  sheugh  or  dyke. 
His  honest,  sonsie,  baws'nt  face 
Ay  gat  him  friends  in  ilka  place ; 
His  breast  was  white,  his  tousle  back 
Weel  clad  wi'  coat  o'  glossy  black ; 
His  gawsie  tail,  wi'  upward  curl. 
Hung  owre  his  hurdles  wi'  a  swirl. 

Nae  doubt  but  they  were  fain  o' 

ither, 
And  unco  pack  an'  thick  thegither; 
Wi'    social  nose  whyles  snuff'd  an' 

snowkit ; 
Whyles  mice  an'  moudieworts  they 

howkit; 


THE  TWA   DOGS. 


Whyles  scour'd  awa'  in  lang  excursion, 
An'  worry'd  ither  in  diversion ; 
Till  tir'd  at  last  wi"  monie  a  farce. 
They  sat  them  down  upon  their  arse, 
An'  there  began  a  lang  digression 
About  the  'lords  o'  the  creation.' 

C^SAR. 

I  V^  £ften  wonderJ;d^  .h'ojie^t  Luath, 
What 'sort  o'  life' poor' do'gs"  like  you 

,  Jiave  r  ^  , ' ,  •  •  .  ••  ' '  ', 
A.f.  .wheii ,  bne^g^ntr^'s  1?  fe'.l^saw, 
What  way  poor  bodies  Tiy'd'ava. 

Our  laird  gets  in  his  racked  rents, 
His  coals,  his  kain,  an'  a'  his  stents : 
He  rises  when  he  likes  himsel ; 
His  flunkies  answer  at  the  bell ; 
He  ca"s  his  coach  ;  he  ca's  his  horse ; 
He  draws  a  bonie  silken  purse, 
As  lang's  my  tail,  whare,  thro'  the 

steeks. 
The  yellow  letter'd  Geordie  keeks. 

Frae  morn  to  e'en  it 's  nought  but 
toiling. 
At  baking,  roasting,  frying,  boiling ; 
An'  tho'  the  gentry  first  are  stechin, 
Yet  ev'n  the  ha'  folk  fill  their  pechan 
Wi'  sauce,  ragouts,  and  sic  like  trash- 
trie, 
That 's  little  short  o'  downright  was- 

trie : 
Our  whipper-in,  wee,  blastit  wonner. 
Poor,  worthless  elf,  it  eats  a  dinner, 
Better  than  onie  tenant-man 
His  Honor  has  in  a'  the  Ian' ; 
An'  what  poor  cot-folk  pit  their  painch 

in, 
I  own  it's  past  my  comprehension. 

LUATH. 

Trowth,  Caesar,  whyles  they  're  fash't 
eneugh  : 
A  cotter  howkin  in  a  sheugh, 
Wi'  dirty  stanes  biggin  a  dyke, 
Baring  a  quarry,  an'  sic  like ; 
Himsel,  a  wife,  he  thus  sustains, 
A  smytrie  o'  wee  duddie  weans. 


An'  nought  but  his  han'  darg  to  keep 
Them  right  an'   tight  in   thack    an' 
rape. 

An'  when  they  meet  wi'  sair  disas- 
ters. 

Like  loss  o'  health  or  want  o'  mas- 
ters. 

Ye  maist  wad  think,  a  wee  touch 
langer. 

An'  they  maun  starve  o'  cauld  and 
hunger : 

But  how  it  comes,  I  never  kend  yet. 

They  're  maistly  wonderfu'  contented ; 

An'  buirdly  chiels,  an'  clever  hizzies, 

Are  bred  in  sic  a  way  as  this  is. 

C^SAR. 

But  then  to  see  how  ye  're  negleckit, 
How  huff 'd,  an'  cuff 'd,  an'  disrespec- 

kit  ! 
Lord  man,  our  gentry  care  as  little 
For  delvers,  ditchers,  an'  sic  cattle ; 
They  gang  as  saucy  by  poor  folk, 
As  I  wad  by  a  stinking  brock. 

I  've  notic'd,  on  our  laird's  court- 
day, 

(An'  monie  a  time  my  heart 's  been 
w^ae). 

Poor  tenant  bodies,  scant  o'  cash, 

How  they  maun  thole  a  factor's  snash  : 

He  '11  stamp  an'  threaten,  curse  an' 
swear 

He  '11  apprehend  them,  poind  their 
gear ; 

While  they  maun  staun',  wi'  aspect 
humble. 

An'  hear  it  a',  an'  fear  an'  tremble  ! 

I  see  how  folk  live  that  hae  riches ; 
But  surely  poor-folk  maun  be  wretches ! 

LUATH. 

They  're    nae  sae   wretched 's   ana 
wad  think : 
Tho'  constantly  on  poortith's  brink. 
They  're  sae  accustom'd  wi'  the  sight, 
The  view  o '  t  gies  them  little  fright. 


THE  TWA   DOGS. 


Then  chance  an'  fortune  are  sae 
guided. 
They're  ay  in  less  or  mair  provided  ; 
An'tho'  fatigu'd  wi' close  employment, 
A  blink  o'  rest's  a  sweet  enjoyment. 

The  dearest  comfort  o'  their  lives, 
Their  grushie  weans  an'  faithfu'  wives  ; 
The  prattling   things  are  just   their 

pride. 
That  sweetens  a'  their  fire-side. 

An'    whyles    twalpennie   v^^orth   o' 

nappy 
Can  mak  the  bodies  unco  happy : 
Tliey  lay  aside  their  private  cares, 
To  mind  the  Kirk  and  State  affairs ; 
They  "11  talk  o'  patronage  an'  priests, 
Wi'  kindling  fury  i'  their  breasts. 
Or  tell  what  new  taxation 's  comin. 
An'  ferlie  at  the  folk  in  Lon'on. 

As  bleak-fac'd  Hallowmass  returns, 
They  get  the  jovial,  ranting  kirns, 
When  iTiral  life,  of  ev'ry  station. 
Unite  in  common  recreation; 
Love    blinks.   Wit   slaps,   an'   social 

Mirth 
Forgets  there's  Care  upo'  the  earth. 

That  merry  day  the  year  begins. 
They  bar  the  door  on  frosty  win's  ; 
The  nappy  reeks  wi'  mantling  ream, 
An'  sheds  a  heart-inspiring  steam  ; 
The  luntin  pipe,  an'  sneeshin  mill. 
Are  handed  round  wi'  right  guid  will ; 
The  cantie  auld  folks  crackin  crouse. 
The   )'oung   anes   ranting   thro'    the 

house  — 
My  heart  has  been  sae  fain  to  see  them, 
That  I  for  joy  hae  barkit  wi'  them. 

Still  it 's  owre  true  that  ye  hae  said 
Sic  game  is  now  owre  aften  play'd ; 
There's  monie  a  creditable  stock 
O"  decent,  honest,  fawsont  folk. 
Are  riven  out  baith  root  an'  branch, 
Some  rascal's  pridefu'  greed  to  quench, 
W^ha  thinks  to  knit  himsel  the  faster 
In  favor  wi'  some  gentle  master, 


Wha,  aiblins  thrang  a  parliamentin ', 
For   Britain's   guid   his  saul    indent- 
in' 

C^SAR. 

Haith,  lad,  ye  little  ken  about  it : 
For  Britain's  guid !  guid  faith !  I  doubt 

it. 
Say  rather,  gaun  as  Premiers  lead  him  : 
An'  saying  aye  or  no  's  they  bid  him  : 
At  operas  an'  plays  parading, 
Mortgaging,    gambling,    masquerad- 
ing: 
Or  maybe,  in  a  frolic  daft. 
To  Hague  or  Calais  taks  a  waft, 
To  mak  a  tour  an'  tak  a  whirl. 
To  learn  ban  ton,  an'  see  the  worP. 

There,  at  Vienna  or  Versailles, 
He  rives  his  father's  auld  entails ; 
Or  by  Madrid  he  taks  the  rout. 
To  thrum  guitars  an'  fecht  wi'  nowt ; 
Or  down  Italian  vista  startles. 
Whore-hunting  amang  groves  o'  myr- 
tles 
Then  bowses  drumlie  German-water, 
To  mak  himsel  look  fair  an'  fatter. 
An'  clear  the  consequential  sorrows. 
Love-gifts  of  Carnival  signoras. 

For  Britain's  guid!  for  her  destruc- 
tion! 
Wi'  dissipation,  feud  an'  faction. 

LUATH. 

Hech  man!  dear  sirs!  is  that  the 
gate 
They  waste  sae  monie  a  braw  estate  ! 
Are  we  sae  foughten  an'  harass'd 
For  gear  ta  gang  that  gate  at  last  ? 

O  would  they  stay  aback  frae  courts, 
An'  please  themsels  wi'  countra  sports, 
It  wad  for  ev'ry  ane  be  better, 
The  laird,  the  tenant,  an'  the  cotter  \ 
Fort  hae  frank,  rantin.  ramblin  billies, 
Fient  haet  o"  them's  ill-hearted  fellows  : 
Except  for  breakin  o'  their  timmer. 
Or  speakin  lightly  o'  their  limmer, 


SCOTCH   DRINK. 


Or  shootin  of  a  hare  or  moor-cock, 
The  ne'er-a-bit  they're  ill  to  poor  folk. 

But  will  ye  tell  me,  master  Caesar : 
Sure  great  folk's  life's  a  life  o'  pleasure  ? 
Nae  cauld  nor  hunger  e'er  can  steer 

them, 
The  vera  thought  o't  need  na  fear 


them. 


C^SAR. 


Lord,   man,  were    ye    but   whyles 
whare  I  am, 
The  gentles,  ye  wad  ne'er  envy  'em  ! 

It's  true,  they  need  na  starve  or 

sweat, 
Thro'    winter's    cauld,   or    simmer's 

heat ; 
They  've  nae  sair  wark  to  craze  their 

banes, 
An'  fill  auld-age  wi'  grips  an'  granes : 
But  human  bodies  are  sic  fools. 
For  a'  their  colleges  an'  schools. 
That  when  nae  real  ills  perplex  them. 
They   mak   enow    themsels    to    vex 

them; 
An'  ay   the   less    they  hae   to  sturt 

them. 
In  hke  proportion,  less  will  hurt  them. 

A  countra  fellow  at  the  pleugh. 
His  acre 's  till'd,  he 's  right  eneugh  ; 
A  countra  girl  at  her  wheel. 
Her  dizzen  's  done,  she 's  unco  weel ; 
But  gentlemen,  an'  ladies  warst, 
Wi'  ev'n  down  want  o'  wark  are  curst : 
They  loiter,  lounging,  lank  an'  lazy ; 
Tho'  deil-haet  ails  them,  yet  uneasy : 
Their  days  insipid,  dull  an'  tasteless ; 
Their  nights  unquiet,  lang  an'  restless. 

An'  ev'n   their  sports,  their   balls 

an'  races, 

Their  galloping  through  public  places. 

There 's  sic  parade,  sic  pomp  an'  art, 

The  joy  can  scarcely  reach  the  heart. 

The  men  cast  out  in  party-matches, 
Then  sowther  a'  in  deep  debauches  ; 


Ae  night  they're  mad  wi'  drink  an' 

whoring, 
Niest  day  their  life  is  past  enduring. 

The  ladies  arm-in-arm  in  clusters. 

As  great  an'  gracious  a'  as  sisters ; 

But  hear  their  absent  thoughts  o' 
it  her. 

They  're  a'  run  deils  an'  jads  thegither. 

Whyles,  owre  the  wee  bit  cup  an' 
platie, 

They  sip  the  scandal-potion  pretty ; 

Or  lee-lang  nights,  wi'  crabbit  leuks 

Pore  owre  the  devil's  pictur'd  beuks ; 

Stake  on  a  chance  a  farmer's  stack- 
yard. 

An'  cheat  hke  onie  unhang'd  black- 
guard. 

There 's  some  exceptions,  man  an' 
woman ; 
But  this  is  Gentry's  life  in  common. 

By  this,  the  sun  was  out  o'  sight, 
An'    darker    gloamin    brought    the 

night; 
The     bum-clock     humm'd    wi'    lazy 

drone ; 
The  kye  stood  rowtin  i'  the  loan ; 
When  up  they  gat,  an'  shook  their 

Rejoic'd  they  were  na  7nen,  but  dogsi 
An'  each  took  aff  his  several  way, 
Resolv'd  to  meet  some  ither  day. 


SCOTCH   DRINK. 

Gie  him  strong  drink  until  he  wink, 

That 's  sinking  in  despair ; 
An  liquor  guid  to  fire  his  bluid, 

That 's  prest  wi'  grief  an  care  : 
There  let  him  bowse,  and  deep  carouse, 

Wi  bumpers  flowing  o'er, 
Till  he  forgets  his  loves  or  debts. 

An  minds  his  griefs  no  more. 
—  Solomon's  Proverbs,  xxxi.  6,  7. 

[Composed  some  time  between  the  be- 
ginning of  November,  1785,  and  Feb.  17, 
1786.     The   metre   is   that   of  Fergussons 


SCOTCH   DRINK. 


"  Cauler  Water,"  of  which  "  Scotch  Drink  " 
is  a  kind  of  parody.] 

I. 

Let  other  poets  raise  a  frdcas 

'Bout  vines,  an'   wines,  an'  drucken 

Bacchus, 
An'  crabbit  names  an'  stories  wrack 
us, 

An'  grate  our  lug : 
I  sing  the  juice  Scotch  bear  can  mak 
us. 

In  glass  or  jug. 

II. 

O  thou,  my  Muse!  guid  auld  Scotch 

drink! 
Whether  thro'  wimplin  worms  thou 

jink, 
Or,  richly  brown,  ream  owre  the  brink. 

In  glorious  faem. 
Inspire  me,  till  I  lisp  an'  wink. 
To  sing  thy  name  ! 

III. 

Let  husky  wheat  the  haughs  adorn, 
An'  aits  set  up  their  awnie  horn. 
An'  pease  an'  beans,  at  e'en  or  morn, 

Perfume  the  plain  : 
Leeze  me  on  thee,  John  Barleycorn, 

Thou  king  o'  grain  ! 

IV. 

On  thee  aft  Scotland  chows  her  cood. 
In  souple  scones,  the  wale  o'  food  ! 
Or  tumbling  in  the  boiling  flood 

Wi'  kail  an'  beef; 
But    when    thou    pours    thy   strong 
heart's  blood. 

There  thou  shines  chief. 


Food  fills  the  wame,  an'  keeps  us  livin  ; 
Tho'  life  's  a  gift  no  worth  receivin, 
When    heavy-dragg'd    wi'    pine    an' 
grievin ; 

But  oil'd  by  thee, 


The   wheels    o'    life    gae    down-hill, 
scrievin, 

Wi'  rattlin  glee. 

VI. 

Thou  clears  the  head  o'  doited  Lear, 
Thou  cheers  the  heart  o'  drooping 

Care ; 
Thou  strings  the   nerves  o'   Labour 
sair. 

At 's  weary  toil ; 
Thou  ev'n  brightens  dark  Despair 
Wi'  gloomy  smile. 

VII. 

Aft,  clad  in  massy  siller  w^eed, 
Wi'  gentles  thou  erects  thy  head ; 
Yet,  humbly  kind  in  time  o'  need. 

The  poor  man's  wine  : 
His  wee  drap  parritch,  or  his  bread, 

Thou  kitchens  fine. 

VIII. 

Thou  art  the  life  o'  public  haunts : 
But   thee,  what   w^re  our   fairs  and 

rants  ? 
Ev'n  godly  meetings  o'  the  saunts. 

By  thee  inspired. 
When,  gaping,  they  besiege  the  tents. 

Are  doubly  fir'd. 

IX. 

That  merry  night  we  get  the  corn  in, 
O  sweetly,  then,  thou  reams  the  horn 

in! 
Or  reekin  on  a  New-Year  mornin 

In  cog  or  bicker, 
An'  just  a  wee  drap  spiritual  burn  in, 

An'  gusty  sucker ! 

X. 

When  Vulcan  gies  his  bellows  breath, 
An'  ploughmen  gather  wi'  their  graith, 
O  rare  !  to  see  thee  fizz  an'  freath 

I'  th'  lugget  caup  ! 
Then  Burnewin  comes  on  like  death 

At  ev'ry  chaup. 


SCOTCH   DRINK. 


XI. 

Nae  mercy,  then,  for  airn  or  steel : 
The  biTiwnie.  painie.  ploughman  chiel. 
Brings  hard  owrehip,  wi'  sturdy  wheel, 

The  strong forehammer, 
Till  block  an^  studdie  ring  an'  reel, 

Wi'  dinsome  clamour. 

XII. 

When  skirlin  weanies  see  the  light. 
Thou  maks  the  gossips  clatter  bright. 
How    fumbling    cuifs    their    dearies 
slight ; 

Wae  worth  the  name  ! 
Nae  howdie  gets  a  social  night. 

Or  plack  frae  them. 

XIII. 

When  neebors  anger  at  a  plea, 
An'  just  as  vvud  as  wud  can  be, 
How  easy  can  the  barley-brie 

Cement  the  quarrel  ! 
It 's  aye  the  cheapest  lawyer's  fee, 

To  taste  the  barrel. 

XIV. 

Alake  !  that  e'er  my  Muse  has  reason. 
To  wyte  her  countrymen  wi'  treason  ! 
But  monie  daily  weet  their  weason 

Wi'  liquors  nice, 
An'  hardly,  in  a  winter  season, 

E'er  spier  her  price. 

XV. 

Wae  worth  that  brandy,  burnin  trash  ! 
Fell  source  o'  monie  a  pain  an'  brash  ! 
Twins  monie  a  poor,  doylt,  drucken 
hash, 

O'  half  his  days  ; 
An'   sends,   beside,   auld    Scotland's 
cash 

To  her  warst  faes. 

XVI. 

Ye    Scots,  wha  wish   auld   Scotland 

well  ! 
Ye  chief,  to  you  my  tale  I  tell, 


Poor,  plackless  devils  like  mysel ! 

It  sets  you  ill, 
Wi'  bitter,  dearthfu'  wines  to  mell, 


Or  foreign  gill. 


XVII. 


May  gravels  round  his  blather  wrench, 
An'  gouts  torment  him,  inch  by  inch, 
Wha  twists  his  gruntle  wi'  a  glunch 

O'  sour  disdain, 
Out  owre  a  glass  o'  whisky-punch 

Wi'  honest  men  ! 


XVIII. 

O  Whisky  !  soul  o'  plays  an'  pranks ! 
Accept  a  Bardie's  gratefu'  thanks  ! 
When   wanting  thee,  what   tuneless 
cranks 

Are  my  poor  verses  ! 
Thou    comes  —  they    rattle   i'    their 
ranks 

At  ither's  arses  ! 

XIX. 

Thee,  Ferintosh  !     O  sadly  lost ! 
Scotland  lament  frae  coast  to  coast ! 
Now  colic  grips,  an'  barkin  hoast 

May  kill  us  a' ; 
For  loyal  Forbes'  chartered  boast 

Is  taen  awa! 

XX, 

Thae  curst  horse-leeches  o'  th'  Excise, 
Wha    mak    the    whisky   stells    their 

prize  ! 
Hand  up  thy  han',  Deil !  ance,  twice, 
thrice  ! 

There,  seize  the  blinkers  ! 
An'  bake  them  up  in  brunstane  pies 
For  poor  damn'd  drinkers. 

XXI. 

Fortune!  if  thou  '11  but  gie  me  still 
Hale  breeks,  a  scone,  an'  whisky  gill^ 
An'  rowth  o'  rhyme  to  rave  at  will, 

Tak  a'  the  rest, 
An'  deal 't  about  as  thy  blind  skill 

Directs  thee  best. 


THE  AUTHOR'S   EARNEST  CRY  AND   PRAYER. 


THE    AUTHOR'S    EARNEST 
CRY   AND    PRAYER. 

TO   THE   SCOTCH    REPRESENTATIVES 
IN   THE    HOUSE    OF    COMMONS. 

Dearest  of  distillation  !  last  and  best 

How  ait  thou  lost  I 

—  Parody  on  Milton. 

[In  the  1787  edition  Burns  added  a  foot- 
note, "  This  was  wrote  before  the  Act  anent 
the  Scotch  distilleries,  of  session  1786,  for 
which  Scotland  and  the  author  return  their 
most  grateful  thanks."] 

I. 

Ye  Irish  lords,  ye  knights  an'  squires, 
Wha  represent  our  brughs  an'  shires, 
An'  doucely  manage  our  affairs 

In  Parliament, 
To  you  a  simple  Bardie's  prayers 

Are  humbly  sent. 


II. 

Alas!  my  roupet  Muse  is  haerse  ! 
Your  Honors'  hearts  wi'  grief  'twad 

pierce, 
To  see  her  sitting  on  her  arse 

Low  i'  the  dust. 
And  scriechin  out  prosaic  verse, 

An'  like  to  brust  ! 


III. 

Tell  them  wha  hae  the  chief  direction, 
Scotland  an'  me 's  in  great  affliction. 
E'er  sin'  they  laid  that  curst  restric- 
tion 

On  aqua-vitae ; 
An"  rouse  them  up  to  strong  convic- 
tion, 

An'  move  their  pity. 

IV. 

Stand    forth,   an'   tell    yon    Premier 

youth 
The  honest,  open,  naked  truth  : 


Tell    him    o'    mine    an'    Scotland's 
drouth. 

His  servants  humble  : 
The  muckle  deevil  blaw  you  south, 

If  ye  dissemble ! 

V. 

Does    onie    great   man    glunch    an' 

gloom  ? 
Speak  out,  an'  never  fash  your  thumb  ! 
Let  posts  an'  pensions  sink  or  soom 

Wi'  them  wha  grant  'em  : 
If  honestly  they  canna  come, 

Far  better  want 'em. 

VI. 

In  gath'rin  votes  you  were  na  slack ; 
Now  stand  as  tightly  by  your  tack : 
Ne'er  claw  your  lug,  an'  fidge  your 
back, 

An'  hum  an'  haw  ; 
But  raise  your  arm,  an'  tell  your  crack 

Before  them  a'. 

VII. 

Paint    Scotland    greetin    owre    her 

thrissle ; 
Her   mutchkin    stowp    as    toom  's  a 

whissle ; 
An'  damn'd  excisement  in  a  bustle, 

Seizin  a  stell, 
Triumphant,  crushin  't  like  a  mussel, 
Or  lampit  shell ! 

VIII. 

Then,   on   the   tither  hand    present 

her  — 
A  blackguard  smuggler  right  behint 

her. 
An'  cheek-for-chow,  a  chuffie  vintner 

Colleaguing  join, 
Pickin  her  pouch  as  bare  as  winter 
Of  a'  kind  coin. 

IX. 

Is  there,  that  bears  the  name  o'  Scot, 
But  feels  his  heart's  bluid  rising  hot, 


8 


THE  AUTHOR'S  EARNEST  CRY  AND  PRAYER. 


To  see  his  poor  auld  mither^s  pot 
Thus  dung  in  staves, 

An'  plundered  o'  her  hindmost  groat, 
By  gallows  knaves  ? 

X. 

Aias!  I  'm  but  a  nameless  wight, 

Trode  i'  the  mire  out  o'  sight ! 

But  could  I  like  Montgomeries  fight, 

Or  gab  like  Boswell, 
There  's  some  sark-necks  I  wad  draw 
tight, 

An'  tie  some  hose  well. 


XI. 

God  bless  your  Honors!  can  ye  see 't. 
The  kind,  auld,  cantie  carlin  greet, 
An'  no  get  warmly  to  your  feet, 

An'  gar  them  hear  it. 
An'  tell  them  wi'  a  patriot-heat, 

Ye  winna  bear  it  ? 

XII. 

Some  o'  you  nicely  ken  the  laws, 
To  round  the  period  an'  pause, 
An'  with  rhetoric  clause  on  clause 

To  mak  harangues  : 
Then  echo  thro'  Saint  Stephen's  wa's 

Auld  Scotland's  wrangs. 

XIII. 

Dempster,  a  true  blue  Scot  I  'se  warran ; 
Thee,  aith-detesting,   chaste    Kilker- 

ran ; 
An'  that  glib-gabbet  Highland  baron. 

The  Laird  o'  Graham  ; 
An'  ane,  a  chap  that's  damn'd  auld- 
farran, 

Dundas  his  name : 

XIV. 

Erskine.  a  spunkie  Norland  billie ; 
True  Campbells,  Frederick  and  Hay ; 
An'  Livistone,  the  bauld  Sir  Willie ; 

An'  monie  ithers. 
Whom  auld  Demosthenes  or  TuUy 

Might  own  for  brithers. 


XV. 

Thee   sodger   Hugh,   my   watchman 

stented. 
If  Bardies  e'er  are  represented  ; 
I  ken  if  that  your  sword  were  wanted, 

Ye  'd  lend  your  hand  ; 
But  when  there  's  ought  to  say  anent  it, 

Ye  're  at  a  stand. 

XVI. 

Arouse,  my  boys  I  exert  your  mettle, 
To  get  auld  Scotland  back  her  kettle  ; 
Or  faith  I    1 11   wad   my  new  pleugh- 
pettle. 

Ye  '11  see 't  or  lang. 
She  '11  teach  you,  wi'  a  reekin  whittle, 

Anither  sang. 

XVII. 

This  while   she's  been  in  crankous 

mood. 
Her  lost  Militia  fir'd  her  bluid  ; 
(Deil  na  they  never  mair  do  guid, 

Play'd  her  that  pliskie!) 
An'  now  she 's  like  to  rin  red-wud 

About  her  whisky. 

XVIII. 

An'  Lord!  if  ance  they  pit  her  tilPt, 
Her  tartan  petticoat  she  '11  kilt, 
An'  durk  an'  pistol  at  her  belt, 

She  "11  tak  the  streets, 
An'  rin  her  whittle  to  the  hilt, 

r  the  first  she  meets  ! 

XIX. 

For  God-sake,  sirs !   then  speak  her 

fair, 
An'  straik  her  cannie  wi'  the  hair. 
An'  to  the  Muckle  House  repair, 

Wi'  instant  speed. 
An'  strive,  wi'  a'  your  wit  an'  lear, 

To  get  remead. 

XX. 

Yon  ill-tongu'd  tinkler,  Charlie  Fox, 
May  taunt  you  wi'  his  jeers  an'  mocks ; 


THE  AUTHOR'S   EARNESl    CRY  AND   PRAYER. 


But  gie  him't  het,  my  hearty  cocks  ! 

In  spite  o'  a'  the  thievish  kaes. 

E'en  cowe  the  cache  ! 

That  haunt  St.  Jamie's  ! 

An^  send  him  to  his  dicing  box 

Your  humble  Bardie  sings  an'  prays, 

An'  sportin  lady. 

While  Rab  his  name  is. 

XXI. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Tell  yon  guid  bluid  of  auld  Bocon- 

XXVI. 

nock's, 

i  'llbehisdebttwamashlumbonnocks, 

Let  half-starv'd  slaves  in  warmer  skies 

An'  drink  his  health  in  auld  Nanse 

See  future  wines,  rich-clust'ring,  rise; 

Tinnock's 

Their  lot  auld  Scotland  ne'er  envies, 

Nine  times  a-week, 

But,  blythe  and  frisky, 

If  he  some  scheme,  like  tea  an'  win- 

She  eyes  her  freeborn,  martial  boys 

nocks, 

Tak  aff  their  whisky. 

Wad  kindly  seek. 

• 

XXVII. 

XXII. 

What  tho' their  Phoebus  kinder  warms, 

Could  he  some  commutation  broach, 

While  fragrance  blooms  and  Beauty 

I  '11    pledge    my   aith    in    guid   braid 

charms. 

Scotch, 

When   wretches    range,    in   famish'd 

He  needna  fear  their  foul  reproach 

swarms, 

Nor  emdition. 

The  scented  groves ; 

Yon     mixtie-maxtie,     queer     hotch- 

Or, hounded  forth,  dishonor  arms 

potch, 

In  hungry  droves  ! 

The  Coahtion. 

XXVIII. 

XXIII. 

Their    gun's     a    burden     on     their 

Auld  Scotland  has  a  raucle  tongue ; 

shouther ; 

She  \s  just  a  devil  wi'  a  rung ; 

They  downa  bide  the  stink  o'  pow- 

An'  if  she  promise  auld  or  young 

ther ; 

To  tak  their  part, 

Their  bauldest  thought 's  a  hank'ring 

Tho'   by   the    neck    she    should   be 

swither 

strung, 

To  Stan'  or  rin, 

She  11  no  desert. 

Till  skelp  —  a  shot  —  they're  aff,  a' 

throw'ther. 

XXIV. 

To  save  their  skin. 

And  now,  ye  chosen  Five-and-Forty, 

May  still  your  mither's  heart  support 

XXIX. 

ye; 

But  bring  a  Scotsman  frae  his  hill, 

Then,  tho'  a  minister  grow  dorty, 

Clap  in  his  cheek  a  Highland  gill, 

An'  kick  your  place. 

Say,  such  is  royal  George's  will, 

Ye  '11    snap    your    fingers,    poor    an' 

An'  there 's  the  foe  ! 

hearty. 

He  has  nae  thought  but  how  to  kill 

Before  his  face. 

Twa  at  a  blow. 

XXV. 

XXX. 

God  bless  your  Honors,  a'  your  days, 

Nae   cauld.    faint-hearted    doubtings 

Wi'  sowps  o'  kail  and  brats  o'  claes, 

tease  him  ; 

TO 


THE   HOLY   FAIR. 


Death  comes,  wi'  fearless  eye  he  sees 

him  ; 
Wi'  bluidy  han'  a  welcome  gies  him  ; 

An'  when  he  fa's, 
His  latest  draught  o'  breathin  lea'es 


him 


In  faint  huzzas. 


XXXI. 

Sages  their  solemn  een  may  steek 
An'  raise  a  philosophic  reek, 
An'  physically  causes  seek 

In  clime  an'  season  ; 
But  tell  me  whisky's  name  in  Greek : 

I  '11  tell  the  reason. 

XXXII. 

Scotland,  my  auld,  respected  mither! 
Tho'  whiles  ye  moistify  your  leather, 
Till  whare  ye  sit  on  craps  o'  heather 

Ye  tine  your  dam, 
Freedom  and  whisky  gang  thegither, 

Tak  afif  your  dram! 


THE   HOLY   FAIR. 

A  robe  of  see7ning  truth  and  trust 

Hid  crafty  observatioft  ; 
And  secret  hung,  with  poison  d  crust, 

The  dirk  ofde/aniation  : 
A  mask  that  like  the  gorget  showd. 

Dye-varying  on  the  pigeon  ; 
Aftd/or  a  mantle  large  and  broad, 
He  wrapt  him  in  Religion. 

—  Hypocrisy  a-la-mode. 

["  '  Holy  Fair '  is  a  common  phrase  in  the 
West  of  Scotland  for  a  sacramental  occa- 
sion." (R.  B,  in  Edinburgh  editions.)  The 
satire  is  chiefly  concerned  with  the  tent- 
preaching  outside  the  church  while  the  Com- 
munion service  went  on  within.  Andrew 
Lang  says,  "  As  Lockhart  justly  observes, 
Burns  in  another  mood  could  have  given  a 
solemn  picture  of  a  very  solemn  occasion."] 

I. 

Upon  a  simmer  Sunday  morn. 
When  Nature's  face  is  fair, 

I  walked  forth  to  view  the  corn, 
An'  snuff  the  caller  air. 


The  rising  sun,  owre  Galston  Muirs, 
Wi'  glorious  light  was  glintin ; 

The  hares  were  hirplin  down  the  furs, 
The  lav'rocks  they  were  chantin 
Fu'  sweet  that  day. 

II. 

As  lightsomely  I  glowr'd  abroad. 

To  see  a  scene  sae  gay, 
Three  hizzies,  early  at  the  road. 

Cam  skelpin  up  the  way. 
Twa  had  manteeles  o'  dolefu'  black. 

But  ane  wi'  lyart  lining  ; 
The  third,  that  gaed  a  wee  a-back. 

Was  in  the  fashion  shining 
Fu'  gay  that  day. 

III. 

The  twa  appear'd  like  sisters  twin. 

In  feature,  form,  an'  claes  ; 
Their  visage  wither'd,  lang  an'  thin, 

An'  sour  as  onie  slaes  : 
The  third  cam  up,  hap-step-an'-lowp, 

As  light  as  onie  lambie. 
An'  wi'  a  curchie  low  did  stoop, 

As  soon  as  e'er  she  saw  me, 
Fu'  kind  that  day. 

IV. 

Wi'  bonnet  afF,  quoth  I,  '  Sweet  lass, 

I  think  ye  seem  to  ken  me ; 
I  'm  sure  I  've  seen  that  bonie  face. 

But  yet  I  canna  name  ye.' 
Quo'  she,  an'  laughin  as  she  spak. 

An'  taks  me  by  the  ban's, 
'  Ye,  for  my  sake,  hae  gi'en  the  feck 

Of  a'  the  Ten  Comman's 

A  screed  some  day. 


'  My  name  is  Fun  —  your  cronie  dear, 

The  nearest  friend  ye  hae  ; 
An'  this  is  Superstition  here, 

An'  that 's  Hypocrisy. 
I  'm  gaun  to  Mauchline  Holy  Fair, 

To  spend  an  hour  in  daffin  : 
Gin  ye '11  go  there,  yon  runkl'd  pair, 

We  will  get  famous  laughin 
At  them  this  day.' 


THE   HOLY   FAIR. 


II 


VI. 

Quoth  I,  '  Wi'  a'  my  heart,  I  Ml  do 't ; 

1 11  get  my  Sunday's  sark  on, 
An'  meet  you  on  the  holy  spot ; 

Faith,  we 'se  hae  fine  remarkin!  ' 
Then  I  gaed  hame  at  crowdie-time, 

An'  soon  I  made  me  ready ; 
For  roads  were  clad,  frae  side  to  side, 

Wi'  monie  a  wearie  body, 

In  droves  that  day. 

VII. 

Here  farmers  gash,  in  ridin  graith, 

Gaed  hoddin  by  their  cotters  ; 
There  swankies  young,  in  braw  braid- 
claith. 
Are  springin  owre  the  gutters. 
The  lasses,  skelpin  barefit,  thrang, 

In  silks  an'  scarlets  glitter; 
Wi'   sweet-milk   cheese,  in   monie  a 
whang. 
An'  farls,  bak'd  wi'  butter, 

Fu'  crump  that  day. 

VIII. 

When  by  the  plate  we  set  our  nose, 

Weel  heaped  up  wi'  ha'pence, 
A  greedy  glowr  black-bonnet  throws, 

An'  we  maun  draw  our  tippence. 
Then  in  we  go  to  see  the  show : 

On  ev'ry  side  they  're  gath'rin  ; 
Some  carryin  dails,  some  chairs  an' 
stools, 

An'  some  are  busy  bleth'rin 
Right  loud  that  day. 

IX. 

Here    stands   a   shed    to    fend    the 
show'rs. 
An'  screen  our  countra  gentry ; 
There     Racer    Jess,     an'    twa-three 
whores. 
Are  blinkin  at  the  entry. 
Here  sits  a  raw  o'  tittlin  jads, 

Wi'  heavin  breasts  an'  bare  neck ; 
An'  there  a  batch  o'  wabster  lads, 
Blackguardin  frae  Kilmarnock, 
For  fun  this  day. 


X. 

Here  some  are  thinkin  on  their  sins, 

An'  some  upo'  their  claes  ; 
Ane  curses  feet  that  fyl'd  his  shins, 

Anither  sighs  an'  prays  : 
On  this  hand  sits  a  chosen  swatch, 

Wi'  screw'd-up,  grace-proud  faces  ; 
On  that  a  set  o'  chaps,  at  watch, 

Thrang  winkin  on  the  lasses 
To  chairs  that  day. 


XI. 

O  happy  is  that  man  an'  blest! 

Nae  wonder  that  it  pride  him! 
Whase  ain  dear  lass,  that  he  likes  best, 

Comes  clinkin  down  beside  him! 
Wi'  arm  repos'd  on  the  chair  back, 

He  sweetly  does  compose  him ; 
Which,  by  degrees,  slips  round  her 
neck, 

An's  loof  upon  her  bosom, 
Unkend  that  day. 


XII. 

Now  a'  the  congregation  o'er 

Is  silent  expectation ; 
For  Aloodie  speels  the  holy  door, 

Wi'  tidings  o'  damnation  : 
Should  Hornie,  as  in  ancient  days, 

'Mang  sons  o'  God  present  him  ; 
The  vera  sight  o*  Moodie's  face 

To 's  ain  het  hame  had  sent  him 
Wi'  fright  that  day. 


XIII. 

Hear  how  he  clears  the  points  o'  Faith 

Wi'  rattlin  and  thumpin! 
Now  meekly  calm,  now  wild  in  wrath. 

He's  stampin,  an'  he's  jumpin! 
His   lengthen'd   chin,   his    turn'd-up 
snout. 

His  eldritch  squeel  an'  gestures, 
O  how  they  fire  the  heart  devout  — 

Like  cantharidian  plaisters 
On  sic  a  day. 


12 


THE   HOLY    FAIR. 


XIV. 

But  hark!    the  tent  has  changM  its 
voice ; 

There 's  peace  an'  rest  nae  langer ; 
For  a'  the  real  judges  rise. 

They  canna  sit  for  anger : 
Smith  opens  out  his  cauld  harangues, 

On  practice  and  on  morals  ; 
An'  aft'  the  godly  pour  in  thrangs, 

To  gie  the  jars  an'  barrels 
A  lift  that  day. 


XV. 

What  signifies  his  barren  shine, 

Of  moral  pow'rs  an'  reason? 
His  English  style,  an'  gesture  fine 

Are  a'  clean  out  o'  season. 
Like  Socrates  or  Antonine, 

Or  some  auld  pagan  heathen. 
The  moral  man  he  does  define. 

But  ne'er  a  word  o'  faith  in 

That 's  right  that  day. 

XVI. 

In  guid  time  comes  an  antidote 

Against  sic  poison'd  nostrum  ; 
For  Peebles,  frae  the  water-fit. 

Ascends  the  holy  rostrum  : 
See,  up  he 's  got  the  word  o'  God, 
An'  meek  an'  mim  has  view'd  it, 
While  Common-sense   has  taen  the 
road, 
An'  aft",  an'  up  the  Cowgate 
Fast,  fast  that  day. 


XVII. 

Wee  Miller  niest,  the  guard  relieves, 

An'  orthodoxy  raibles, 
Tho'  in  his  heart  he  weel  believes. 

An'  thinks  it  auld  wives'  fables  : 
But  faith!  the  birkie  wants  a  manse: 

So,  cannilie  he  hums  them  ; 
Altho'  his  carnal  wit  an'  sense 

Like  hafflins-wise  o'ercomes  him 
At  times  that  dav. 


XVIII. 

Now  butt  an'  ben  the  change-house 
fills, 
Wi'  yill-caup  commentators ; 
Here 's  crying  out  for  bakes  an'  gills, 
An'  there  the  pint-stowp  clatters ; 
While  thick  an'  thrang,  an'  loud  an' 
lang,  _ 
Wi'  logic  an'  wi'  Scripture, 
They  raise  a  din,  that  in  the  end 
Is  like  to  breed  a  rupture 
O'  wrath  that  day. 

XIX. 

Leeze  me  on  drink!  it  gies  us  mair 

Than  either  school  or  college  ; 
It  kindles  wit,  it  waukens  lear. 

It  pangs  us  fou  o'  knowledge : 
Be  't  whisky-gill  or  penny  wheep, 

Or  onie  stronger  potion, 
It  never  fails,  on  drinkin  deep, 

To  kittle  up  our  notion. 
By  night  or  day. 

XX. 

The  lads  an'  lasses,  biythely  bent 

To  mind  baith  saul  an'  body. 
Sit  round  the  table,  weel  content. 

An'  steer  about  the  toddy  : 
On  this  ane's  dress,  an'  that  ane's  leuk, 

They  're  makin  observations  ; 
While  some  are  cozie  i'  the  neuk, 

An'  formin  assignations 

To  meet  some  day. 

XXI. 

But  now  the  Lord's  ain  trumpet  touts. 

Till  a'  the  hills  are  rairin. 
And  echoes  back  return  the  shouts  ; 

Black  Russell  is  na  spairin  : 
His     piercin    words,    like     Highlan' 
swords, 

Divide  the  joints  an'  marrow  ; 
His  talk  o'  Hell,  whare  devils  dwell, 

Our  verra  '  sauls  does  harrow  ' 
Wi'  fright  that  day ! 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  DEIL. 


13 


XXII. 

A  vast.  unbottomM,  boundless  pit, 

Fiird  fou  o'  lowin  brunstane, 
Whase  ragiii  tiame,  an'  scorchin  heat, 

Wad  melt  the  hardest  whun-stane! 
The  half-asleep  start  up  \vi'  fear. 

An'  think  they  hear  it  roarin  ; 
When  presently  it  does  appear, 

'T  was  but  some  neebor  snorin 
Asleep  that  day. 


XXIII. 

'T  wad  be  owTe  lang  a  tale  to  tell, 

How  monie  stories  past ; 
An'  how  they  crouded  to  the  yill, 

When  they  w^ere  a'  dismist ; 
How  drink  gaed  round,  in  cogs  an' 
caups, 
Amang  the  fiirms  an'  benches  ; 
An'  cheese  an'  bread,  frae  women's 
laps, 
Was  dealt  about  in  lunches, 
An'  dawds  that  day. 


XXIV. 

In  comes  a  gawsie,  gash  guidwife, 

An'  sits  down  by  the  fire. 
Syne  draws  herkebbuck  an'  her  knife  ; 

The  lasses  they  are  shyer: 
The  auld  guidmen,  about  the  grace, 

Frae  side  to  side  they  bother ; 
Till  some  ane  by  his  bonnet  lays, 

An'  gies  them  't,  like  a  tether, 
Fu'  lang  that  day. 


XXV. 

Waesucks !  for  him  that  gets  nae  lass. 

Or  lasses  that  hae  naething! 
Sma'  need  has  he  to  say  a  grace, 

Or  melvie  his  braw  claithing! 
O  wives,  be  mindfu',  ance  yoursel, 

How^  bonie  lads  ye  wanted ; 
An"  dinna  for  a  kebbuck-heel 

Let  lasses  be  affronted 
On  sic  a  day! 


XXVI. 

Now  Clinkumbell,  wi'  rattlin  tow, 

Begins  to  jow  an'  croon  ; 
Some  swagger  hame  the   best  they 
dow, 

Some  wait  the  afternoon. 
At  slaps  the  billies  halt  a  blink. 

Till  lasses  strip  their  shoon  : 
Wi'  faith  an'  hope,  an'  love  an'  drink, 

They  're  a'  in  famous  tune 

For  crack  that  day. 

XXVII. 

How  monie  hearts  this  day  converts 

O'  sinners  and  o'  lasses! 
Their  hearts  o'  stane,  gin  night,  are 
gane 

As  saft  as  onie  flesh  is  : 
There  's  some  are  fou  o'  love  divine ; 

There  's  some  are  fou  o'  brandy ; 
An'  monie  jobs  that  day  begin. 

May  end  in  houghmagandie 
Some  ither  day. 


ADDRESS   TO   THE   DEIL. 

O  Prince/   O  Chief  of  many  throned  pow'rs  ! 
That  ledth'  eiiibattl'd  seraphi?n  to  war. 

—  Milton. 

[Gilbert  Burns  states  that  his  brother 
first  repeated  the  "  Address  to  the  Deil  "  in 
the  winter  followins:  the  summer  of  1784, 
"  while  they  were  going  together  with  carts 
of  coal  to  the  family  fire."  But  it  is  clear 
from  Burns's  letter  to  Richmond,  Feb.  12, 
1786,  that  Gilbert  misdates  the  poem  by  a 
year.  The  "  Address  "  is  in  part  a  good- 
natured  burlesque  on  Milton's  Satan.] 

I. 

O  Thou  !  whatever  title  suit  thee  — 
Auld  Hornie,  Satan,  Nick,  or  Clootie — 
Wha  in  yon  cavern  grim  an'  sootie, 

Clos'd  under  hatches, 
Spairges  about  the  brunstane  cootie. 

To  scaud  poor  wretches! 


14 


ADDRESS  TO  THE   DEIL. 


II. 

Hear  me,  Auld  Hangie,  for  a  wee, 
An'  let  poor  damned  bodies  be ; 
I  'm  sure  sma'  pleasure  it  can  gie, 

Ev'n  to  a  deil. 
To  skelp  an'  scaud  poor  dogs  like  me 

An'  hear  us  squeel. 

III. 

Great  is  thy  powV  an'  great  thy  fame  ; 
Far  kend  an'  noted  is  thy  name  ; 
An'  tho'  yon  lowin  heugh  's  thy  hame. 

Thou  travels  far  ; 
An'  faith  !  thou 's  neither  lag,  nor  lame. 

Nor  blate,  nor  scaur. 

IV. 

Whyles,  ranging  like  a  roarin  lion. 
For  prey,  a'  holes  an'  corners  trying ; 
Whyles,  on  the  strong-wing'd  tempest 
flyin, 

Tirlin  the  kirks ; 
Whyles,  in  the  human  bosom  pryin, 

Unseen  thou  lurks. 

V. 

I  've  heard  my  rev'rend  graunie  say, 
In  lanely  glens  ye  like  to  stray ; 
Or,  where  auld  ruin'd  castles  grey 

Nod  to  the  moon. 
Ye  fright  the  nightly  wand'rer's  way 

Wi'  eldritch  croon. 

VI. 

When  twilight  did  my  graunie  sum- 
mon, 
To    say    her   pray'rs,    douce,    honest 

woman ! 
Aft  yont  the  dyke  she 's  heard  yon 
bummin, 

Wi'  eerie  drone ; 
Or,  rustlin,  thro'  the  boortrees  comin, 
Wi'  heavy  groan. 

VII. 

Ae  dreary,  windy,  winter  night, 
The    stars    shot    down   wi'   sklentin 
light, 


Wi'  you  mysel,  I  gat  a  fright : 
Ayont  the  lough. 

Ye,  like  a  rash-buss,  stood  in  sight, 
Wi'  waving  sugh. 

VIII. 

The  cudgel  in  my  nieve  did  shake, 
Each  bristl'd  hair  stood  like  a  stake ; 
When  wi'  an  eldritch,  stoor  ^  quaick, 
quaick,' 

Amang  the  springs, 
Awa  ye  squatter'd  like  a  drake, 

On  whistling  wings. 

IX. 

Let  warlocks  grim,  an'  wither'd  hags, 
Tell  how  wi'  you,  on  ragweed  nags, 
They  skim  the  muirs  an'  dizzy  crags, 

Wi'  wicked  speed ; 
And  in  kirk-yards  renew  their  leagues, 

Owre  howkit  dead. 


Thence,  countra  wives,  wi'  toil  an'  pain, 
May  plunge  an'  plunge  the  kirn  in 

vain ; 
For  O!  the  yellow  treasure's  taen 

By  witching  skill ; 
An'  dawtit,  twal-pint,  hawkie  's  gaen 
As  yell 's  the  bill. 

XI. 

Thence,  mystic  knots  mak  great  abuse 
On  young  guidmen,  fond,  keen  an' 

croose ; 
When  the  best  wark-lume  i'  the  house, 

By  cantraip  wit. 
Is  instant  made  no  worth  a  louse. 

Just  at  the  bit. 

XII. 

When    thowes    dissolve    the   snawy 

hoord, 
An'  float  the  jinglin  icy  boord, 
Then,  water-kelpies  haunt  the  foord, 

By  your  direction. 
An'  nighted  trav'llers  are  allur'd 

To  their  destruction. 


THE   DEATH   AND   DYING   WORDS   OF   POOR    MAILIE. 


15 


XIII. 

And  aft  your  moss-traversing  spunkies 
Decoy  the  wight  that  late  an'  drunk  is  : 
The      bleezin,     curst,      mischievous 
monkies 

Dekide  his  eyes, 
Till  in  some  miry  slough  he  sunk  is, 

Ne'er  mair  to  rise. 

XIV. 

When  Masons'  mystic  word  an'  grip 
In  storms  an'  tempests  raise  you  up, 
Some  cock  or  cat  your  rage  maun  stop, 

Or,  strange  to  tell! 
The  youngest  brother  ye  wad  whip 

Aff  straught  to  hell. 

XV. 

Lang  syne  in  Eden's  bonie  yard. 
When  youthfu'  lovers  first  were  pair'd. 
An'  all  the  soul  of  love  they  shar'd. 

The  raptur'd  hour. 
Sweet  on  the  fragrant  flow'ry  swaird, 

In  shady  bow'r : 

XVI. 

Then  you,  ye  auld,  snick-drawing  dog ! 

Ye  cam  to  Paradise  incog, 

An'  play'd  on  man  a  cursed  brogue 

(Black  be  your  fa'!). 
An'  gied  the  infant  warld  a  shog, 

'Maist  ruin'd  a'. 

XVII. 

D'  ye  mind  that  day  when  in  a  bizz 
We'  reekit  duds,  an'  reestit  gizz. 
Ye  did  present  your  smoutie  phiz 

'Mang  better  folk ; 
An'  sklented  on  the  man  of  Uzz 

Your  spitefu*  joke? 

XVIII. 

An*  how  ye  gat  him  i'  your  thrall, 
An"  brak  him  out  o'  house  an*  hal*. 
While  scabs  an'  botches  did  him  gall, 
Wi'  bitter  claw ; 


An'    lows'd    his    ill-tongu'd    wicked 
scaul — 

Was  warst  ava  ? 

XIX. 

But  a'  your  doings  to  rehearse, 
Your  wily  snares  an'  fechtin  fierce. 
Sin'  that  day  Michael  did  you  pierce 

Down  to  this  time. 
Wad  ding  a  Lallan  tongue,  or  Erse, 

In  prose  or  rhyme. 

XX. 

An'   now,  Auld  Cloots,  I  ken  ye  're 

thinkin, 
A  certain  Bardie's  rantin,  drinkin. 
Some  luckless  hour  will  send  him  lin- 
kin. 

To  your  black  Pit ; 
But,  faith!  he'll  turn  a  corner  jinkin, 
An'  cheat  you  yet. 

XXI. 

But  fare-you-weel,  Auld  Nickie-Ben  I 
O,  wad  ye  tak  a  thought  an'  men'  ! 
Ye  aiblins  might — I  dinna  ken  — 

Still  hae  a  stake  : 
I  'm  wae  to  think  upo'  yon  den, 

Ev*n  for  your  sake ! 


THE     DEATH     AND     DYING 
WORDS  OF  POOR  MAILIE. 

THE  author's  only  PET  YOWE  :  AN 
UNCO  MOURNFU'  TALE. 

[" '  Poor  Mailie,'  says  Lockhart,  follow- 
ing Gilbert  Burns,  'was  a  real  personage, 
though  she  did  not  actually  die  until  some 
time  after  her  last  words  were  written.  She 
had  been  purchased  by  Burns  in  a  frolic, 
and  became  exceedingly  attached  to  his 
person,"  as  the  pig  loved  Sir  Walter  Scott 
Like  Scott,  Burns  was  much  loved  by  ani- 
mals, whom  he  has  made  immortal."  — 
ANDREW'  Lang.] 

As  Mailie,  an*  her  lambs  thegither. 
Was  ae  day  nibblin  on  the  tether, 
Upon  her  cloot  she  coost  a  hitch, 


i6 


POOR   MAILIE'S   ELEGY. 


An'  owre  she  warsPd  in  the  ditch  : 
There,  groanin,  dying,  she  did  lie, 
When  Hughoc  he  cam  doytin  by. 

Wi'  glowrin  een,  an'  lifted  han's 
Poor  Hughoc  like  a  statue  stands ; 
He   saw    her    days    were    near-hand 

ended, 
But,   wae 's  my  heart!    he   could  na 

mend  it ! 
He  gaped  wide,  but  naething  spak. 
At  length  poor  Mailie  silence  brak  : — 

^  O  thou,  whase  lamentable  face 
Appears  to  mourn  my  woefu'  case! 
My  dying  words  attentive  hear, 
An"  bear  them  to  my  Master  dear. 

'  Tell  him,  if  e'er  again  he  keep 
As  muckle  gear  as  buy  a  sheep  — 
O,  bid  him  never  tie  them  mair, 
Wi"  wicked  strings  o'  hemp  or  hair  ! 
But  ca'  them  out  to  park  or  hill, 
An'  let  them  wander  at  their  will : 
So  may  his  flock  increase,  an'  grow 
To  scores  o'  lambs,  an'  packs  o'  woo' . 

'  Tell  him,  he  was  a  Master  kin' 
An'  ay  was  guid  to  me  an'  m.ine ; 
An'  now  my  dying  charge  I  gie  him. 
My  helpless  lambs,  I  trust  them  wi' 
him. 

'O,  bid  him   save   their  harmless 

lives, 
Frae   dogs,   an'   tods,   an'    butchers' 

knives ! 
But  gie  them  guid  cow-milk  their  fill, 
Till  they  be  fit  to  fend  themsel ; 
An'  tent  them  duly,  e'en  an'  morn, 
Wi'  teats  o'  hay  an'  ripps  o'  corn. 

'  An'  may  they  never  learn  thegaets. 
Of  ither  vile,  wanrestfu'  pets  — 
To  slink  thro'  slaps,   an'   reave   an' 

steal, 
At  stacks  o'  pease,  or  stocks  o'  kail ! 
So  may  they,  like  their  great  forbears. 
For   monie   a   year  come   thro'   the 

sheers : 


So  wives  will  gie  them  bits  o'  bread. 
An'  bairns  greet  for  them  when  they  're 
dead. 

^My  poor  toop-lamb,  my  son  an' 
heir, 
O,  bid  him  breed  him  up  wi'  care! 
An'  if  he  live  to  be  a  beast, 
To  pit  some  havins  in  his  breast! 
An'  warn  him  —  what  I  winna  name- 
To  stay  content  wi'  yowes  at  hame; 
An'  no  to  rin  an'  wear  his  cloots, 
Like  other  menseless,  graceless  brutes. 

'An'  niest,  my  yowie,  silly  thing ; 
Gude  keep  thee  frae  a  tether  string! 
O,  may  thou  ne'er  forgather  up, 
Wi'  onie  blastit,  moorland  toop ; 
But  ay  keep  mind  to  moop  an'  mell, 
Wi'  sheep  o'  credit  like  thysel ! 

'  And  now,  my  bairns,  wi'  my  last 
breath, 
I  lea'e  my  blessin  wi'  you  baith  : 
An'  when  you  think  upo'  your  mither; 
Mind  to  be  kind  to  ane  anither. 

'  Now,  honest  Hughoc,  dinna  fail. 
To  tell  my  master  a'  my  tale ; 
An'  bid  him  burn  this  cursed  tether, 
An'  for   thy  pains   thou'se  get    my 
blether.' 

This  said,  poor  Mailie  turn'd  her 
head. 
An'  clos'd  her  een  amang  the  dead! 


POOR   MAILIE'S   ELEGY. 


Lament  in  rhyme,  lament  in  prose, 
Wi'    saut   tears    tricklin   down   your 

nose ; 
Our  Bardie's  fate  is  at  a  close. 

Past  a'  remead! 
The  last,  sad  cape-stane  of  his  woes ; 

Poor  Mailie's  dead! 


EPISTLE  TO  JAMES   SMITH. 


17 


II. 

It 's  no  the  loss  of  warl's  gear, 
That  could  sae  bitter  draw  the  tear, 
Or  mak  our  Bardie,  dowie,  wear 

The  mourning  weed : 
He  's  lost  a  friend  an'  neebor  dear 

In  Mailie  dead. 

III. 

Thro'  a'  the  toun  she  trotted  by  him ; 
A  lang  half-mile  she  could  descry  him ; 
Wi'  kindly  bleat,  when  she  did  spy 
him, 

She  ran  wi'  speed  : 
A  friend  mair  faithfu'  ne'er  cam  nigh 
him. 

Than  Mailie  dead. 

IV. 

I  wat  she  was  a  sheep  o'  sense. 
An'  could  behave  hersel  wi'  mense : 
I  '11  say 't,  she  never  brak  a  fence. 

Thro'  thievish  greed. 
Our  Bardie,  lanely,  keeps  the  spence 

Sin'  Mailie's  dead. 


Or,  if  he  wanders  up  the  howe. 
Her  livin  image  in  her  yowe 
Comes    bleatin    till    him,    owre   the 
knowe, 

For  bits  o'  bread  ; 
An'  down  the  briny  pearls  rowe 

For  Mailie  dead. 

VI. 

She  was  nae  get  o'  moorlan  tips, 
Wi'  tawted  ket,  an'  hairy  hips ; 
For   her   forbears   were    brought    in 
ships, 

Frae  'yont  the  Tweed : 
A  bonier  fleesh  ne'er  cross'd  the  clips 
Than  Mailie's  dead. 

VII. 

Wae  worth   the   man  wha  first   did 
shape 

c 


That  vile,  wanchancie  thing  —  a  rape! 
It  maks  guid  fellows  girn  an'  gape, 

Wi'  chokin  dread ; 
An'  Robin's  bonnet  wave  wi'  crape 

For  Mailie  dead. 

VIII. 

O  a'  ye  bards  on  bonie  Doon! 

An'  wha  on  Ayr  your  chanters  tune! 

Come,  join  the  melancholious  croon 

O'  Robin's  reed! 
His  heart  will  never  get  aboon! 

His  Maihe's  dead! 


EPISTLE   TO   JAMES   SMITH. 

Friendship,  mysterious  cement  of  the  soul! 
Sweet' ner  of  Life,  and  solder  of  Society  / 

I  owe  thee  much 

—  Blair. 

[The  recipient  of  this  epistle  was  the  son 
of  Robert  Smith,  merchant,  Mauchline, 
He  was  six  years  younger  than  the  poet. 
He  removed  to  Jamaica  about  1788,  where 
he  died.  His  sister's  "  wit  "  is  celebrated  in 
"  The  Belles  of  Mauchline."  The  "  Epistle  " 
was  probably  written  early  in  1786.] 


Dear  Smith,  the  slee'st,  pawkie  thief, 
That  e'er  attempted  stealth  or  rief ! 
Ye  surely  hae  some  warlock-breef 

Owre  human  hearts ; 
For  ne'er  a  bosom  yet  was  prief 

Against  your  arts. 

II. 

For  me,  I  swear  by  sun  an'  moon, 
And  ev'ry  star  that  blinks  aboon, 
Ye've  cost  me  twenty  pair  o'  shoon. 

Just  gaun  to  see  you  ; 
And  ev'ry  ither  pair  that 's  done, 

Mair  taen  I  'm  wi'  you. 

III. 

That  auld,  capricious  carlin,  Nature, 
To  mak  amends  for  scrimpit  stature, 


i8 


EPISTLE  TO   JAMES    SMTrH. 


She 's  turn'd  you  off,  a  human-creature 
On  her  first  plan  ; 

And  in  her  freaks,  on  ev^ry  feature 
She 's  wrote  the  Man. 


rv. 

Just  now  I  've  taen  the  fit  o'  rhyme, 
My  barmie  noddle  's  working  prime. 
My  fancy  yerkit  up  subHme, 

Wi'  hasty  summon : 
Hae  ye  a  leisure-moment\s  time 

To  hear  what 's  comin  ? 


V. 

Some  rhyme  a  neebor^s  name  to  lash  ; 
Some  rhyme  (vain  thought !)  for  need- 

fu^  cash  ; 
Some   rhyme   to   court    the   countra 
clash, 

An'  raise  a  din ; 
For  me,  an  aim  I  never  fash  ; 
I  rhyme  for  fun. 

VI. 

The  star  that  rules  my  luckless  lot, 

Has  fated  me  the  russet  coat. 

An'  damn'd  my  fortune  to  the  groat ; 

But,  in  requit, 
Has  blest  me  with  a  random-shot 

O'  countra  wit. 

VII. 

This  while  my  motion  's  taen  a  sklent. 
To  try  my  fate  in  guid,  black  prent ; 
But  still  the  mair  I  'm  that  way  bent. 

Something  cries, '  Hoolie! 
I  red  you,  honest  man,  tak  tent! 

Ye  '11  shaw  your  folly : 

VIII. 

*  There's     ither    poets,    much     your 

betters, 
Far  seen  in  Greek,  deep  men  o'  letters, 
Hae  thought  they  had  ensur'd  their 

debtors, 

A'  future  ages ; 


Now    moths    deform,    in    shapeless 
tatters, 

Their  unknown  pages.' 

IX. 

Then  farewell  hopes  o'  laurel-boughs 
To  garland  my  poetic  brows! 
Henceforth     I  '11    rove    where    busy 
ploughs 

Are  whistling  thrang ; 
An' teach  the  lanely  heights  an' howes 

My  rustic  sang. 


X. 

I  '11  wander  on,  wi'  tentless  heed 
How  never-halting  moments  speed. 
Till  Fate  shall  snap  the  brittle  thread ; 

Then,  all  unknown, 
I  '11  lay  me  with  th'  inglorious  dead, 

Forgot  and  gone ! 

XI. 

But  why  o"*  death  begin  a  tale  ? 

Just  now  we're  living  sound  an'  hale  ; 

Then  top  and  maintop  crowd  the  sail, 

Heave  Care  o'er-side! 
And  large,  before  Enjoyment's  gale, 

Let 's  tak  the  tide. 

XII. 

This  life,  sae  far 's  I  understand, 

Is  a'  enchanted  fairy-land. 

Where  Pleasure  is  the  magic- wand. 

That,  wielded  right, 
Maks   hours   like   minutes,   hand   in 
hand. 

Dance  by  fu'  light. 

XIII. 

The  magic-wand  then  let  us  wield ; 
For,  ance  that  five-an'-forty  's  speel'd, 
See,  crazy,  weary,  joyless  Eild, 

Wi'  wrinkrd  face, 
Comes  hostin,  hirplin  owre  the  field, 

Wi'  creepin  pace. 


EPISTLE  TO   JAMES   SMITH. 


19 


XIV. 

When  ance  life's  day  draws  near  the 

gloamin. 
Then  fareweel  vacant, careless roamin  ; 
An'  fareweel  chearfu'  tankards  foamin. 

An'  social  noise : 
An'  fareweel  dear,  deluding  Woman, 

The  joy  of  joys! 

XV. 

O  Life!  how  pleasant,  in  thy  morn- 
ing, 

Young  Fancy's  rays  the  hills  adorn- 
ing! 

Cold-pausing  Caution's  lesson  scorn- 
ing, 

We  frisk  away. 

Like    school-boys,    at    th'    expected 
warning. 

To  joy  an'  play. 

XVI. 

We  wander  there,  we  wander  here, 
We  eye  the  rose  upon  the  brier, 
Unmindful  that  the  thorn  is  near, 

Among  the  leaves ; 
And  tho'  the  puny  wound  appear. 

Short  while  it  grieves. 

XVII. 

Some,  lucky,  find  a  flow'ry  spot. 
For  which  they  never  toil'd  nor  swat ; 
They  drink  the  sweet  and  eat  the  fat. 

But  care  or  pain  ; 
And  haply  eye  the  barren  hut 

With  high  disdain. 

XVIII. 

With     steady    aim,    some    Fortune 

chase ; 
Keen  Hope  does  ev'ry  sinew  brace ; 
Thro'  fair,  thro'  foul,  they  urge  the 
race, 

And  seize  the  prey  : 
Then  cannie,  in  some  cozie  place. 
They  close  the  day. 


XIX. 

And  others,  like  your  humble  servant 
Poor   wights !    nae   rules   nor   roads 

observin. 
To  right  or  left  eternal  swervin. 

They  zig-zag  on ; 
Till,  curst  with  age,  obscur  an'  starvin, 

They  aften  groan. 

XX. 

Alas!  what  bitter  toil  an'  straining  — 
But   truce   with    peevish,  poor  com- 
plaining! 
Is  Fortune's  fickle  Ljina  waning? 

E'en  let  her  gang  ! 
Beneath  what  light  she  has  remain- 
ing, 

Let 's  sing  our  sang. 


^5' 


XXI. 

My  pen  I  here  fling  to  the  door. 
And  kneel,  ye  Pow'rs!  and  warm  im- 
plore, 
'  Tho  I  should  wander  Terra  o'er. 

In  all  her  climes, 
Grant  me  but  this,  I  ask  no  more, 
Ay  rowth  o'  rhymes. 

XXII. 

'■  Gie  dreeping  roasts  to  countra  lairds, 
Till  icicles  hing  frae  their  beards  : 
Gie  fine  braw  claes  to  fine  life-guards 

And  maids  of  honor  ; 
And  yill  an'  whisky  gie  to  cairds, 

Until  they  sconner. 

XXIII. 

'  A  title,  Dempster  merits  it ; 

A  garter  gie  to  Willie  Pitt ; 

Gie  wealth  to  some  be-ledger'd  cit, 

In  cent,  per  cent. ; 
But  give  me  real,  sterling  wit, 

And  I  *m  content 

XXIV. 

'  While  ye  are  pleas'd  to  keep  me  hale, 
I  '11  sit  down  o'er  my  scanty  meal. 


20 


A   DREAM. 


Be  't  water-brose  or  muslin  kail, 
Wi''  cheerfu'  face, 

As  lang  's  the  Muses  dinna  fail 
To  say  the  grace.' 

XXV. 

An  anxious  e'e  I  never  throws 
Behint  my  lug,  or  by  my  nose ; 
I  jouk  beneath  Misfortune's  blows 

As  weel  's  I  may  ; 
Sworn  foe  to  sorrow,  care,  and  prose, 

I  rhyme  away. 

XXVI. 

0  ye  douce  folk  that  live  by  rule, 
Grave,  tideless-blooded,  calm  an"*  cool, 
Compared    wi'    you  —  O    fool!    fool! 

fool! 

How  much  unlike! 
Your  hearts  are  just  a  standing  pool. 
Your  lives  a  dyke! 

XXVII. 

Nae  hair-brained,  sentimental  traces 
In  your  unletterM,  nameless  faces! 
In  arioso  trills  and  graces 

Ye  never  stray ; 
VivX gravissinw,  solemn  basses 

Ye  hum  away. 

XXVIII. 

Ye  are  sae  grave,  nae   doubt  ye  're 

wise ; 
Nae  ferly  tho'  ye  do  despise 
The  hairum-scairum,  ram-stam  boys. 
The  rattling  squad : 

1  see  ye  upward  cast  your  eyes  — 

Ye  ken  the  road! 

XXIX. 

Whilst  I  —  but  I  shall  haud  me  there, 
Wi'  you  I  '11  scarce  gang  onie  where  — 
Then,  Jamie,  I  shall  say  nae  mair. 

But  quat  my  sang. 
Content  wi'  you  to  mak  a  pair, 

Whare'er  I  gang. 


A   DREAM. 

Thoughts,   words,   a?id   deeds,   the    Statute 

blames  with  reason  ; 
But    surely    Dreams   were    neer    indicted 

Treasoji. 

[The  leaning  to  Jacobitism  in  this  ad- 
dress displeased  some  of  his  loyal  patrons, 
who  objected  to  its  retention  in  the  1787 
edition,  unless  modified.  But  Burns  wrote 
to  Mrs.  Dunlop  that  he  was  "  not  very- 
amenable  to  counsel"  in  such  a  matter; 
and  his  sentiments  once  published,  he 
scorned  either  to  withdraw  them  or  to  di- 
lute his  expression.] 

On  reading  in  the  public  papers,  the 
Laureate's  Ode  with  the  other  parade  of 
June  4th,  1786,  the  Author  was  no  sooner 
dropt  asleep,  than  he  imagined  himself 
transported  to  the  Birth-day  Levee :  and, 
in  his  dreaming  fancy,  made  the  following 
Address :  — 


GuiD-MORNiN  to  your  Majesty! 

May  Heaven  augment  your  blisses, 
On  ev'ry  new  birth-day  ye  see, 

A  humble  Poet  washes! 
My  Bardship  here,  at  your  Levee, 

On  sic  a  day  as  this  is, 
Is  sure  an  uncouth  sight  to  see, 

Amang  thae  birth-day  dresses 
Sae  fine  this  day. 

II. 

I  see  ye  're  complimented  thrang, 

By  monie  a  lord  an'  lady ; 
God  Save  the  King^  a  cuckoo  sang 

That 's  unco  easy  said  ay  : 
The  poets,  too,  a  venal  gang, 

Wi'  rhymes  weel-turn'd  an'  ready, 
Wad  gar  you  trow  ye  ne'er  do  wrang, 

But  ay  unerring  steady. 
On  sic  a  day. 

III. 

For  me!  before  a  Monarch's  face, 
Ev'n  there  I  winna  flatter  ; 

For  neither  pension,  post,  nor  place, 
Am  I  your  humble  debtor : 


A   DREAM. 


2t 


So,  nae  reflection  on  your  Grace, 
Your  Kingship  to  bespatter; 

There's  monie  waur  been  o'  the  race, 
And  aibhns  ane  been  better 
Than  you  this  day. 

IV. 

'T  is  very  true  my  sovereign  King, 

My  skill  may  weel  be  doubted ; 
But  facts  are  chiels  that  winna  ding, 

And  downa  be  disputed  : 
Your  royal  nest,  beneath  your  wing. 

Is  e'en  right  reft  and  clouted, 
And  now  the  third  part  o'  the  string, 

An^  less,  will  gang  about  it 
Than  did  ae  day. 

V. 

Far  be 't  frae  me  that  I  aspire 

To  blame  your  legislation, 
Or  say,  ye  wisdom  want,  or  fire 

To  rule  this  mighty  nation  : 
But  faith !  I  muckle  doubt,  my  sire 

Ye  \'e  trusted  ministration 
To  chaps  wha  in  a  barn  or  byre 

Wad  better  filFd  their  station, 
Than  courts  yon  day. 

VI. 

And   now    yeVe   gien   auld   Britain 
peace. 

Her  broken  shins  to  plaister; 
Your  sair  taxation  does  her  fleece, 

Till  she  has  scarce  a  tester : 
For  me,  thank  God,  my  life's  a  lease, 

Nae  bargain  wearin  faster. 
Or  faith !  I  fear,  that,  wi^  the  geese, 

I  shortly  boost  to  pasture 

r  the  craft  some  day. 

VII. 

I  'm  no  mistrusting  Willie  Pitt, 

When  taxes  he  enlarges, 
(An'  Will 's  a  true  guid  fallow's  get, 

A  name  not  envy  spairges). 
That  he  intends  to  pay  your  debt, 

An'  lessen  a'  your  charges  ; 


But,  God  sake!  let  nae  saving  fit 
Abridge  your  bonie  barges 
An'  boats  this  day. 


VIII. 

Adieu,  my  Liege!  may  Freedom  geek 

Beneath  your  high  protection  ; 
An'  may  ye  rax  Corruption's  neck. 

And  gie  her  for  dissection ! 
But  since  I  'm  here  I  'II  no  neglect. 

In  loyal,  true  affection. 
To  pay  your  Queen,  wi'  due  respect, 

My  fealty  an'  subjection 

This  great  birth-day. 

IX. 

Hail,  Majesty  most  Excellent! 

While  nobles  strive  to  please  ye, 
Will  ye  accept  a  compliment, 

A  simple  Bardie  gies  ye? 
Thae  bonie  bairntime  Heav'n  has  lent, 

Still  higher  may  they  heeze  ye 
In  bliss,  till  Fate  some  day  is  sent, 

For  ever  to  release  ye 

Frae  care  that  day. 

X. 

For  you,  young  Potentate  o'  Wales, 

I  tell  your  Highness  fairly, 
Down  Pleasure's  stream,  wi'  swelling 
sails, 
I  'm  tauld  ye  're  driving  rarely  ; 
But    some    day  you  may  gnaw  your 
nails. 
An'  curse  your  folly  sairly, 
That  e"er  ye  brak  Diana's  pales, 
Or  rattl'd  dice  wi'  Charlie 
By  night  or  day. 

XI. 

Yet  aft  a  ragged  cowte  's  been  known, 

To  mak  a  noble  aiver ; 
So,  ye  may  doucely  fill  a  throne, 

For  a'  their  clish-ma-claver : 
There,  him  at  Agincourt  wha  shone, 

Few  better  were  or  braver ; 


22 


THE  VISION. 


And  yet,  wi'  funny,  queer  Sir  John, 
He  was  an  unco  shaver 

For  monie  a  day. 

XII. 

For  you,  right  rev'rend  Osnaburg, 

Nane  sets  the  lawn-sleeve  sweeter, 
Altho'  a  ribban  at  your  lug 

Wad  been  a  dress  completer: 
As  ye  disown  yon  paughty  dog. 

That  bears  the  keys  of  Peter, 
Then  Swith!  an'  get  a  wife  to  hug. 

Or  trowth,  ye  11  stain  the  mitre 
Some  luckless  day! 

XIII. 

Young,  royal  Tary-breeks,  I  learn, 

YeVe  lately  come  athwart  her  — 
A  glorious  galley,  stem  an'  stern 

Weel  rigg'd  for  Venus'  barter ; 
But  first  hang  out  that  she  '11  discern 

Your  hymeneal  charter ; 
Then  heave  aboard  your  grapple-airn, 

An',  large  upon  her  quarter, 
Come  full  that  day. 

XIV. 

Ye,  lastly,  bonie  blossoms  a', 

Ye  royal  lasses  dainty, 
Heav'n   mak    you    guid   as   weel   as 
braw. 

An'  gie  you  lads  a-plenty! 
But  sneer  na  British  boys  awa! 

For  king  are  unco  scant  ay. 
An'  German  gentles  are  but  sma' : 

They  're  better  just  than  want  ay 
On  onie  day. 

XV. 

God  bless  you  a' !  consider  now. 

Ye  're  unco  muckle  dautet ; 
But  ere  the  course  o'  life  be  through. 

It  may  be  bitter  sautet : 
An'  I  hae  seen  their  coggie  fou, 

That  yet  hae  tarrow't  at  it ; 
But  or  the  day  was  done,  I  trow, 

The  laggen  they  hae  clautet 
Fu'  clean  that  day. 


THE   VISION. 

[The  division  into  "Duans"  was  bor- 
rowed from  Ossian,  —  "  Duan,"  a  term  of 
Ossian's  for  the  different  divisions  of  a 
digressive  poem.  Fourteen  stanzas  of  this 
poem  as  originally  composed  were  withheld 
by  Burns  from  publication,  and  were  first 
printed  (1852)  in  Chambers's  edition  from 
the  Stair  MS.,  then  in  the  possession  of 
Mr.  Dick  of  Irvine.  In  all  likelihood  the 
published  stanzas  were  revised  for  the  Kil- 
marnock volume,  the  others  remaining  un- 
touched.] 


DUAN  FIRST. 


I. 


The  sun  had  clos'd  the  winter  day, 
The  curlers  quat  their  roaring  play. 
And  hunger'd  maukin  taen  her  way. 

To  kail-yards  green, 
Vi^hile  faithless  snaws  ilk  step  betray 

Whare  she  has  been. 


II. 

The  thresher's  weary  flingin-tree, 
The  lee-lang  day  had  tired  me ; 
And  when  the  day  had  clos'd  his  e'e 

Far  i'  the  west, 
Ben  i'  the  spence,  right  pensivelie, 

I  gaed  to  rest. 

III. 

There,  lanely  by  the  ingle-cheek, 
I  sat  and  ey'd  the  spewing  reek. 
That  fiird,  wi'  hoast-provoking  smeek, 

The  auld  clay  biggin  ; 
An'  heard  the  restless  rattons  squeak 

About  the  riggin. 

IV. 

All  in  this  mottie,  misty  clime, 
I  backward  inus'd  on  wasted  time  : 
How  I  had  spent  my  youthfu'  prime, 

An'  done  naething. 
But  stringing  blethers  up  in  rhyme, 

For  fools  to  sing. 


THE  VISION. 


23 


V. 

Had  I  to  giiid  advice  but  harkit, 
I  might,  by  tliis,  hae  led  a  market, 
Or  strutted  in  a  bank  and  clarkit 

My  cash-account : 
While  here,  half-mad,  half-fed,  half- 
sarkit, 

Is  a'  th'  amount. 


VI. 

I  started,  muttering '  Blockhead !  coof ! ' 
An''  heavM  on  high  my  waukit  loof, 
To  swear  by  a'  yon  starry  roof, 

Or  some  rash  aith. 
That  I  henceforth  would  be  rhyme- 
proof 

Till  my  last  breath  — 

VII. 

When  click!  the  string  the  snick  did 

draw ; 
And  jee!  the  door  gaed  to  the  wa' ; 
And  by  my  ingle-lowe  I  saw. 

Now  bleezin  bright, 
A  tight,  outlandish  hizzie,  braw, 

Come  full  in  sight. 

VIII. 

Ye  need  na  doubt,  I  held  my  whisht ; 
The    infant    aith,    half-formed,     was 

crusht ; 
I  glowr'd  as  eerie's  I  'd  been  dusht. 

In  some  wild  glen  ; 
When  sweet,  like  modest  Worth,  she 
blusht, 

And  stepped  ben. 

IX. 

Green,  slender,  leaf-clad  holly-boughs 
Were    twisted,    graceful   round    her 

brows ; 
I  took  her  for  some  Scottish  Muse, 

By  that  same  token  ; 
And    come    to    stop    those    reckless 
vows, 

Would  soon  been  broken. 


X. 

A  '  hair-brain'd,  sentimental  trace  ' 
Was  strongly  marked  in  her  face ; 
A  wildly- witty,  rustic  grace 

Shone  full  upon  her ; 
Her  eye,  ev'n  turn'd  on  empty  space, 

Beam'd  keen  with  honor. 

XI. 

Down  flow'd  her  robe,  a  tartan  sheen, 
Till  half  a  leg  was  scrimply  seen; 
And  such  a  leg !  my  bonie  Jean 

Could  only  peer  it ; 
Sae  straught,  sae  taper,  tight  an'  clean 

Nane  else  came  near  it. 

XII. 

Her  mantle  large,  of  greenish  hue, 
My  gazing  wonder  chiefly  drew  ; 
Deep   lights   and   shades,   bold-min- 
gling, threw 

A  lustre  grand ; 
And  seem'd,  to  my  astonish'd  view, 

A  well-known  land. 

XIII. 

Here,  rivers  in  the  sea  were  lost ; 
There,  mountains  to  the  skies  were 

toss't ; 
Here,  tumbling  billows   mark'd   the 
coast 

With  surging  foam  ; 
There,  distant  shone  Art's  lofty  boast, 
The  lordly  dome. 

XIV. 

Here,   Doon    pour'd    down   his   far- 
fetched floods : 
There,  well-fed  Irw'ine  stately  thuds: 
Auld  hermit  Ayr  staw  thro'  his  woods. 

On  to  the  shore ; 
And  many  a  lesser  torrent  scuds 

With  seeming  roar. 

XV. 

Low,  in  a  sandy  valley  spread. 

An  ancient  borough  rear'd  her  head ; 


24 


THE  VISION. 


Still,  as  in  Scottish  story  read, 
She  boasts  a  race 

To  ev'ry  nobler  virtue  bred. 

And  polish'd  grace. 

XVI. 

By  stately  tow'r,  or  palace  fair, 

Or  ruins  pendent  in  the  air, 

Bold  stems  of  heroes,  here  and  there, 

I  could  discern  ; 
Some  seem'd  to  muse,  some  seem'd 
to  dare. 

With  feature  stern. 

XVII. 

My  heart  did  glowing  transport  feel, 
To  see  a  race  heroic  wheel. 
And   brandish  round  the  deep-dyed 
steel 

In  sturdy  blows ; 
While,  back-recoiling,  seem'd  to  reel, 

Their  suthron  foes. 

XVIII. 

His  Country's  Saviour,  mark  him  well! 

Bold  Richardton's  heroic  swell ; 
The  chief,  on  Sark  who  glorious  fell 

In  high  command ; 
And  he  whom  ruthless  fates  expel 

His  native  land. 

XIX. 

There,  where  a  sceptr'd  Pictish  shade 
Stalk'd  round  his  ashes  lowly  laid, 
I  mark'd  a  martial  race,  pourtrayM 

In  colours  strong : 
Bold,  soldier-featur'd,  undismayed. 

They  strode  along. 

XX. 

Thro'  many  a  wild,  romantic  grove. 
Near  many  a  hermit-fancied  cove 
(Fit  haunts  for  friendship  or  for  love 

In  musing  mood). 
An  aged  Judge,  I  saw  him  rove, 

Dispensing  good. 


XXI. 

With  deep-struck,  reverential  awe, 
The  learned  Sire  and  Son  I  saw : 
To  Nature's  God,  and  Nature's  law, 

They  gave  their  lore  ; 
This,  all  its  source  and  end  to  draw. 

That,  to  adore. 

XXII. 

Brydon's  brave  ward  I  well  could  spy, 
Beneath  old  Scotia's  smiling  eye ; 
Who  call'd  on  Fame,  low  standing  by. 

To  hand  him  on, 
Where  many  a  patriot-name  on  high. 

And  hero  shone. 


DUAN  SECOND. 
I. 

With  musing-deep,  astonish'd  stare, 
I  view'd  the  heavenly-seeming  Fair; 
A  whisp'ring  throb  did  witness  bear 

Of  kindred  sweet, 
When  with  an  elder  sister's  air 

She  did  me  greet. 

II. 

All  hail !  my  own  inspired  Bard ! 
In  me  thy  native  Muse  regard  ! 
Nor  longer  mourn  thy  fate  is  hard. 

Thus  poorly  low! 
I  come  to  give  thee  such  reward. 

As  we  bestow. 

III. 

'  Know,  the  great  genius  of  this  land 

Has  many  a  light  aerial  band. 

Who,  all  beneath  his  high  command, 

Harmoniously, 
As  arts  or  arms  they  understand. 

Their  labors  ply. 

IV. 

'  They    Scotia's    race    among    them 

share  : 
Some  fire  the  soldier  on  to  dare ; 


THE  VISION. 


25 


Some  rouse  the  patriot  up  to  bare 

Corruption's  heart ; 
Some    teach    the    bard  —  a 


darling 


care  — 


The  tuneful  art. 


V. 


*  'Mong  swelling    floods   of   reeking 

gore, 
They,  ardent,  kindling  spirits  pour ; 
Or,  'mid  the  venal  Senate's  roar. 

They,  sightless,  stand, 
To  mend  the  honest  patriot-lore, 

And  grace  the  hand. 


VI. 

*  And  when  the  bard,  or  hoary  sage, 
Charm  or  instruct  the  future  age, 
They  bind  the  wild  poetic  rage 

In  energy ; 
Or  point  the  inconclusive  page 
Full  on  the  eye. 

VII. 

*  Hence,    Fullarton,    the    brave    and 

young; 
Hence,      Dempster's       zeal-inspired 

tongue ; 
Hence,    sweet,    harmonious    Beattie 
sung 

His  Minstrel  lays, 
Or  tore,  with  noble  ardour  stung, 
The  sceptic's  bays. 

VIII. 

'■  To  lower  orders  are  assign'd 
The  humbler  ranks  of  human-kind, 
The  rustic  bard,  the  laboring  hind, 

The  artisan  ; 
All  chuse,  as  various  they  're  inclin'd, 

The  various  man. 

IX. 

'  When  yellow  waves  the  heavy  grain. 
The  threat'ning  storm  some  strongly 
rein. 


Some  teach  to  meliorate  the  plain, 
With  tillage-skill ; 

And  some  instruct  the  shepherd-train, 
Blythe  o'er  the  hill. 

X. 

'  Some  hint  the  lover's  harmless  wile  ; 
Some    grace    the    maiden's    artless 

smile ; 
Some  soothe  the  laborer's  weary  toil 

For  humble  gains. 
And  make  his  cottage-scenes  beguile 

His  cares  and  pains. 

XI. 

'  Some,  bounded  to  a  district-space., 
Explore  at  large  man's  infant  race. 
To  mark  the  embryotic  trace 

Of  rustic  bard ; 
And  careful  note  each  opening  grace, 

A  guide  and  guard. 

XII. 

'■  Of  these  am  I  —  Coila  my  name  :. 
And  this  district  as  mine  I  claim,. 
Where  once  the  Campbells,  chiefs  of 
fame. 

Held  ruling  pow'r : 
I  mark'd  thy  embryo-tuneful  flame, 

Thy  natal  hour. 

XIII. 

'  With  future  hope  I  oft  would  gaze. 
Fond,  on  thy  little  early  ways  : 
Thy  rudely  caroll'd,  chiming  phrase 

In  uncouth  rhymes ; 
Fir'd  at  the  simple,  artless  lays 

Of  other  times. 

XIV. 

I  saw  thee  seek  the  sounding  shore 
Delighted  with  the  dashing  roar; 
Or  when  the  North  his  fleecy  store 

Drove  thro'  the  sky, 
I  saw  grim  Nature's  visage  hoar 

Struck  thy  young  eye.- 


26 


THE   VISION. 


XV. 

*  Or   when   the   deep    green-mantled 

earth 
Warm  cherish'd  evV}^  flow  Vet's  birth, 
And  joy  and  music  pouring  forth 

In  evVy  grove ; 
I  saw  thee  eye  the  general  mirth 
With  boundless  love. 

XVI. 

'When  ripen'd  fields  and  azure  skies 
Caird  forth  the  reaper's  rustling  noise, 
I  saw  thee  leave  their  evening  joys, 

And  lonely  stalk, 
To  vent  thy  bosom's  swelling  rise, 

In  pensive  walk. 

XVII. 

'  When  youthful  Love,  warm-blushing, 

strong, 
Keen-shivering,  shot  thy  nerves  along, 
Those  accents  grateful  to  thy  tongue, 

Th'  adored  Name, 
I  taught  thee  how  to  pour  in  song 

To  soothe  thy  flame. 

XVIII. 

'  T  saw  thy  pulse's  maddening  play, 
Wild-send    thee    Pleasure's    devious 

way. 
Misled  by  Fancy's  meteor-ray, 

By  passion  driven ; 
But  yet  the  light  that  led  astray 

Was  light  from  Heaven. 

[The  following  are  the  suppressed  stanzas. 
After  the   i8th  of  Duan  i. :  — ] 

'With   secret    throes   I   marked  that 

earth. 
That  cottage,  witness  of  my  birth  ; 
And  near  I  saw,  bold  issuing  forth 

In  youthful  pride, 
A  Lindsay  race  of  noble  worth. 

Famed  far  and  wide. 

Where,  hid  behind  a  spreading  wood. 
An  ancient  Pict-built  mansion  stood, 


I  spied,  among  an  angel  brood, 

A  female  fair ; 
Sweet  shone  their  high  maternal  blood 

And  fathers'  air. 

'  An  ancient  tower  to  memory  brought 
How  Dettingen's  bold  hero  fought ; 
Still,  far  from  sinking  into  nought, 

It  owns  a  lord 
Who  far  in  western  climates  fought, 

With  trusty  sword. 

'  Among  the  rest  I  well  could  spy 
One  gallant,  graceful,  martial  boy, 
The  soldier  sparkled  in  his  eye, 

A  diamond  water ; 
I  blest  that  noble  badge  with  joy 

That  owned  in^f rater, 

XIX. 

'  I  taught  thy  manners-painting  strains 
The  loves,  the  ways  of  simple  swains, 
Till  now,  o'er  all  my  wide  domains 

Thy  fame  extends ; 
And  some,  the  pride  of  Coila's  plains. 

Become  thy  friends. 

XX. 

'  Thou  canst  not  learn,  nor  can  I  show, 
To  paint  with  Thomson's  landscape 

glow ; 
Or  wake  the  bosom-melting  throe 

With  Shenstone's  art ; 
Or  pour,  with  Gray,  the  moving  flow 

Warm  on  the  heart. 

[After  the  20th  stanza  of  the  text :  — ] 

'  Near  by  arose  a  mansion  fine, 
The  seat  of  many  a  muse  div^ine  ; 
Not  rustic  muses  such  as  mine, 

With  holly  crown'd, 
But  th'  ancient,  tuneful,  laurell'd  Nine, 

From  classic  ground. 

I  mournM  the  card  that  Fortune  dealt. 
To    see    where    bonie    Whitefoords 
dwelt ; 


THE   VISION. 


27 


But  other  prospects  made  me  melt : 

That  village  near; 
There  Nature,  Friendship,  Love,  I  felt, 


Fond-mingling  dear! 


'Hail!    Nature's   pang,    more   strong 

than  death! 
Warm  Friendship's  glow,  like  kindling 

wrath ! 
Love,  dearer  than  the  parting  breath 

Of  dying  friend! 
Not  ev'n  with  life's  wild  devious  path, 
Your  force  shall  end! 

'  The  Pow'r  that  gave  the  soft  alarms 
In  blooming  Whiteford's  rosy  charms. 
Still  threats  the  tiny,  feathered  arms. 

The  barbed  dart. 
While  lovely  Wilhelminia  warms 

The  coldest  heart.' 


XXI. 

'  Yet,  all  beneath  th'  unrivaird  rose. 
The  lowly  daisy  sweetly  blows  ; 
Tho^  large  the  forest^s  monarch  throws 

His  army-shade, 
Yet  green  the  juicy  hawthorn  grows 

Adown  the  glade. 

[After  the  21st  stanza  of  the  text :  — ] 

*  Where  Lugar  leaves  his  moorland 

plaid. 
Where  lately  Want  was  idly  laid, 
I  marked  busy,  bustling  Trade, 

In  fervid  flame. 
Beneath  a  Patroness's  aid. 

Of  noble  name. 

'Wild,  countless  hills  I  could  survey, 
And  countless  flocks  as  wild  as  they ; 
But  other  scenes  did  charms  display, 

That  better  please. 
Where   polish'd  manners  dwell  with 
Gray, 

In  rural  ease. 

'  Where  Cessnock  pours  with  gurgling 
sound ; 


And  Irwine,  marking  out  the  bound, 
Enamoured  of  the  scenes  around, 

Slow  runs  his  race, 
A  name  I  doubly  honor'd  found, 

With  knightly  grace. 

'  Brydone's   brave   ward,  I   saw   him 

stand. 
Fame  humbly  offering  her  hand. 
And  near,  his  kinsman's  rustic  band, 

With  one  accord. 
Lamenting  their  late  blessed  land 

Must  change  its  lord. 

'The  owner  of  a  pleasant  spot, 
Near  sandy  wilds,  I  last  did  note  ; 
A  heart  too  warm,  a  pulse  too  hot 

At  times,  o'erran ; 
But  large  in  ev'ry  feature  wrote, 

Appear'd  the  Man.' 


XXII. 

'  Then  never  murmur  nor  repine ; 
Strive  in  thy  humble  sphere  to  shine ; 
And  trust  me,  not  Potosi's  mine, 

Nor  king's  regard, 
Can  give  a  bliss  o'ermatching  thine, 

A  rustic  Bard. 


XXIII. 

'To  give  my  counsels  all  in  one  : 
Thy  tuneful  flame  still  careful  fan ; 
Preserve  the  dignity  of  Man, 

With  soul  erect ; 
And  trust  the  Universal  Plan 

Will  all  protect. 


XXIV. 

'And  wear  thou  this' — She  solemn 

said. 
And  bound  the  holly  round  my  head  : 
The  polish'd  leaves  and  berries  red 

Did  rustling  play ; 
And,  like  a  passing  thought,  she  fled 

In  light  away. 


28 


HALLOWEEN. 


HALLOWEEN.i 

Yes  !  let  the  rich  deride,  the  proud  disdain. 
The  simple  pleasures  of  the  lowly  traift  : 
To  me  more  dear,  congetiial  to  my  heart. 
One  native  charm,  thati  all  the  gloss  of  art. 
—  Goldsmith. 

["  The  following  Poem  will  by  many 
readers  be  well  enough  understood ;  but 
for  the  sake  of  those  who  are  unacquainted 
with  the  manners  and  traditions  of  the 
country  where  the  scene  is  cast,  notes  are 
added  to  give  some  account  of  the  principal 
charms  and  spells  of  that  night,  so  big  with 
prophecy  to  the  peasantry  in  the  west  of 
Scotland.  The  passion  of  prying  into  futu- 
rity makes  a  striking  part  of  the  history  of 
human  nature,  in  its  rude  state,  in  all  ages 
and  nations  ;  and  it  may  be  some  entertain- 
ment to  a  philosophic  mind  if  any  such 
should  honor  the  author  with  a  perusal,  to 
see  the  remains  of  it,  among  the  more  un- 
enlightened in  our  own"  (R.  B.).  See 
Notes.] 

I. 

Upon  that  night,  when  fairies  light 

On  Cassilis  Downans  ^  dance, 
Or  owre  the  lays,  in  splendid  blaze, 

On  sprightly  coursers  prance ; 
Or  for  Colean  the  route  is  taen. 

Beneath  the  moon's  pale  beams ; 
There,  up  the  Cove,^  to  stray  and  rove, 

Amang  the  rocks  and  streams 
To  sport  that  night : 

II. 

Amang  the  bonie  winding  banks, 

Where  Doon  rins,  wimplin,  clear ; 
Where  Bruce  *  ance  ruled  the  martial 
ranks, 
An'  shook  his  Carrick  spear ; 
Some  merry,  friendly,  country-folks 

Together  did  convene. 
To   burn   their    nits,   an'   pou    their 
stocks, 
An'  hand  their  Halloween 

Fu'  blythe  that  night. 

III. 

The  lasses  feat  an'  cleanly  neat, 
Mair  braw  than  when  they  're  fine  ; 


Their  faces  blythe  fu'  sweetly  kythe 
Hearts  leal,  an'  warm,  an'  kin' : 

The  lads  sae  trig,  wi'  wooer-babs 
Weel-knotted  on  their  garten ; 

Some  unco  blate,  an'  some  wi'  gabs 
Gar  lasses'  hearts  gang  startin 
Whyles  fast  at  night. 

rv. 

Then,  first  an'  foremost,  thro'  the  kail. 
Their   stocks  ^  maun  a'  be  sought 
ance ; 
They  steek   their  een,  an'  grape  an' 
wale 
For  rauckle  anes,  an'  straught  anes. 
Poor  hav'rel  Will  fell  afif  the  drift. 

An'  wandered  thro'  the  bow-kail, 
An'  pow't,  for  want  o'  better  shift, 
A  runt,  was  like  a  sow-tail, 

Sae  bow't  that  night. 


Then,  straught   or   crooked,  yird  or 
nane. 
They  roar  an'  cry  a'  throu'ther ; 
The  vera  wee-things,  toddlin,  rin 

Wi'  stocks  out-owre  their  shouther : 
An'  gif  the  custock  's  sweet  or  sour, 

Wi'  joctelegs  they  taste  them  ; 
Syne  coziely,  aboon  the  door, 
Wi'   cannie    care,   they've    plac'd 
them 

To  lie  that  night. 

VI. 

The  lasses  staw  frae  'mang  them  a', 

To  pou  their  stalks  o'  corn  ;  ^ 
But  Rab  slips  out,  an'  jinks  about, 

Behint  the  muckle  thorn  : 
He  grippet  Nelly  hard  an'  fast ; 

Loud  skirl'd  a'  the  lasses  ; 
But  her  tap-pickle  maist  was  lost. 

Whan  kiutlin  in  the  fause-house  '^ 
Wi'  him  that  night. 

VII. 

The    auld    guid-wife's    weel-hoordet 
nits  8 


HALLOWEEN. 


29 


Are  round  an'  round  divided, 
An'  monie  lads'  an'  lasses'  fates 

Are  there  that  night  decided : 
Some  kindle  couthie,  side  by  side, 

An'  burn  thegither  trimly  : 
Some  start  awa  wi'  saucy  pride, 

An'  jump  out-owre  the  chimlie 
Fu'  high  that  night. 

VIII. 

Jean  slips  in  twa,  wi'  tentie  e'e ; 

Wha  't  was,  she  wadna  tell ; 
But  this  IS  Jock,  an'  this  is  ?;/^, 

She  says  in  to  herself: 
He  bleez'd  owre  her,  an'  she  owre  him, 

As  they  wad  never  mair  part ; 
Till  fuff !  he  started  up  the  lum. 

And  Jean  had  e'en  a  sair  heart 
To  see  't  that  night. 

IX. 

Poor  Willie,  wi'  his  bow-kail  runt. 

Was  burnt  wi'  primsie  Mallie  ; 
An'  Mary,  nae  doubt,  took  the  drunt, 

To  be  compar'd  to  Willie  : 
Mall's  nit  lap  out,  wi'  pridefu'  fling, 

An'  her  ain  fit,  it  burnt  it ; 
While  Willie  lap,  an'  swoor  by  jing, 

'T  was  just  the  way  he  wanted 
To  be  that  night. 

X. 

Nell  had  the  fause-house  in  her  min', 

•    She  pits  hersel  an'  Rob  in ; 

In  loving  bleeze  they  sweetly  join. 

Till  w^hite  in  ase  they  're  sobbin  : 
Nell's  heart  was  dancing  at  the  view  ; 

She  whisper'd  Rob  to  leuk  for 't : 
Rob,  stownlins,  prie'd  her  bonie  mou, 

Fu'  cozie  in  the  neuk  for't. 
Unseen  that  night. 

XI. 

But  Merran  sat  behint  their  backs. 
Her  thoughts  on  Andrew  Bell ; 

She    lea'es    them    gashing    at    their 
cracks, 
An'  slips  out  by  hersel : 


She  thro'  the  yard  the  nearest  taks, 
An'  to  the  kiln  she  goes  then, 

An'  darklins  grapit  for  the  banks, 
And  in  the  blue-clue^  throws  then, 
Right  fear't  that  night. 

XII. 

An'  ay  she  win't,  an'  ay  she  swat 

I  wat  she  made  nae  jaukin  ; 
Till  something  held  within  the  pat, 

Guid  Lord!  but  she  was  quakin! 
But  whether  't  was  the  Deil  himsel, 

Or  whether  't  was  a  bauk-en'. 
Or  whether  it  was  Andrew  Bell, 

She  did  na  wait  on  talkin 

To  spier  that  night. 

XIII. 

Wee  Jenny  to  her  grannie  says, 

'  Will  ye  go  wi'  me,  grannie  ? 
I  '11  eat  the  apple^^  at  the  glass, 

I  gat  frae  uncle  Johnie' : 
She  fuff't  her  pipe  wi'  sic  a  lunt. 

In  wrath  she  was  sae  vap'rin, 
She  notic't  na  an  aizle  brunt 

Her  braw,  new,  worset  apron 
Out  thro'  that  night. 

XIV. 

'  Ye  little  skelpie-limmer's-face  ! 

I  daur  ye  try  sic  sportin, 
As  seek  the  Foul  Thiei"  onie  place, 

For  him  to  spae  your  fortune  : 
Nae  doubt  but  ye  may  get  a  sight ! 

Great  cause  ye  hae  to  fear  it ; 
For  monie  a  ane  has  gotten  a  fright, 

An'  liv'd  an'  died  deleeret, 
On  sic  a  night. 

XV. 

^  Ae  hairst  afore  the  Sherra-moor, 

I  mind 't  as  weel 's  yestreen  — 
I  was  a  gilpey  then,  I  'm  sure 

I  was  na  past  fyfteen  : 
The  simmer  had  been  cauld  an'  wat, 

An'  stuff  was  unco  green  ; 
An'  ay  a  rantin  kirn  we  gat, 

An'  just  on  Halloween 

It  fell  that  night. 


30 


HALLOWEEN. 


XVI. 

^Our  stibble-rig  was  Rab  M'Graen, 

A  clever,  sturdy  fallow ; 
His  sin  gat  Eppie  Sim  wi'  wean, 

That  lived  in  Achmachalla  : 
He  gat  hemp-seed,ii  I  mind  it  weel, 

An^  he  made  unco  light  o  't ; 
But  monie  a  day  was  by  himsel, 

He  was  sae  sairly  frighted 
That  vera  night.' 

XVII. 

Then  up  gat  fechtin  Jamie  Fleck, 

An'  he  swoor  by  his  conscience. 
That  he  could  saw  hemp-seed  a  peck  ; 

For  it  was  a'  but  nonsense : 
The  auld  guidman  raught  down  the 
pock, 

An'  out  a  handfu'  gied  him  ; 
Syne  bad  him  slip  frae  'mang  the  folk, 

Sometime  when  nae  ane  see'd  him, 
An'  try 't  that  night. 

XVIII. 

He  marches  thro'  amang  the  stacks, 

Tho'  he  was  something  sturtin ; 
The  graip  he  for  a  harrow  taks. 

And  haurls  at  his  curpin ; 
And  ev'ry  now  and  then,  he  says, 

'Hemp-seed  I  saw  thee. 
An'  her  that  is  to  be  my  lass 

Come  after  me,  an'  draw. thee 
As  fast  this  night.' 

XIX. 

He  whistl'd  up  Lord  Lenox'  March, 

To  keep  his  courage  cheery  ; 
Altho'  his  hair  began  to  arch. 

He  was  sae  fley'd  an'  eerie  ; 
Till  presently  he  hears  a  squeak. 

An'  then  a  grane  an'  gruntle ; 
He  by  his  shouther  gae  a  keek, 

An'  tumbrd  \vi'  a  wintle 

Out-owre  that  night. 

XX. 

He  roar'd  a  horrid  murder-shout, 
I  n  dreadfu'  desperation  ! 


An'  young  an'  auld  come  rinnin  out, 
An'  hear  the  sad  narration  : 

He  swoor 'twas  hilchin  Jean  M^Craw, 
Or  crouchie  Merran  Humphie  — 

Till  stop !  she  trotted  thro'  them  a' 
An'  wha  was  it  but  grumphie 
Asteer  that  night  ? 

XXI. 

Meg  fain  wad  to  the  barn  gaen. 
To   winn   three   wechts    o'  naeth- 
ing;i2 

But  for  to  meet  the  Deil  her  lane, 
She  pat  but  little  faith  in  : 

She  gies  the  herd  a  pickle  nits, 
An'  twa  red-cheekit  apples, 

To  watch,  while  for  the  barn  she  sets. 
In  hopes  to  see  Tam  Kipples 
That  vera  night. 

XXII. 

She  turns  the  key  wi'  cannie  thraw, 

An'  owre  the  threshold  ventures ; 
But  first  on  Sawnie  gies  a  ca'. 

Syne  bauldly,  in  she  enters : 
A  ratton  rattl'd  up  the  wa', 

An'  she  cry'd,  L — d  preserve  her! 
An'  ran  thro'  midden-hole  an'  a', 

An'  pray'd  wi'  zeal  and  fervour 
Fu'  fast  that  night. 

XXIII. 

They  hoy't  out  Will,  wi'  sair  advice ; 
They  hecht   him  some   fine  braw 
ane ; 
It   chanc'd    the    stack    he   faddom't 
thrice, ^3 
Was  timmer-propt  for  thrawin  : 
He  taks  a  swirlie,  auld  moss-oak 

For  some  black  gruesome  carlin ; 
An'  loot  a  winze,  an'  drew  a  stroke, 
Till  skin  in  blypes  cam  haurlin 
Afif"s  nieves  that  night- 

XXIV. 

A  wanton  widow  Leezie  was, 

As  cantie  as  a  kittlin  ; 
But  och !  that  night,  amang  the  shaws, 

She  gat  a  fearfu'  settlin! 


NEW-YEAR   MORNING   SALUTATION. 


31 


She  thro'  the  whins,  and  by  the  cairn, 

An'  owre  the  hill  gaed  scrievin  ; 
Whare  three  lairds'  lands  met  at  a 
burn,!'* 
To  dip  her  left  sark-sleeve  in 
Was  bent  that  night. 


XXV. 

Whyles  owre  a  linn  the  burnie  plays, 

As  thro'  the  glen  it  wimpPt ; 
Whyles  round  a  rocky  scaur  it  strays, 

Whyles  in  a  wiel  it  dimpl't ; 
Whyles  glitter'd  to  the  nightly  rays, 

Wi'  bickerin,  dancin  dazzle  ; 
Whyles  cookit  underneath  the  braes, 

Below  the  spreading  hazel 
Unseen  that  night. 

XXVI. 

Amang  the  brachens,  on  the  brae, 

Between  her  an'  the  moon, 
The  Deil,  or  else  an  outler  quey. 

Gat  up  an'  gae  a  croon  : 
Poor   Leezie's    heart    maist   lap   the 
hool ; 

Near  lav'rock-height  she  jumpit, 
But  mist  a  fit.  an'  in  the  pool 

Out-owre  the  lugs  she  plumpit 

Wi'  a  plunge  that  night. 

XXVII. 

In  order,  on  the  clean  hearth-stane, 

The  luggies  three  ^^  are  ranged  ; 
And  ev'ry  time  great  care  is  taen 

To  see  them  duly  changed  : 
Auld  uncle  John,  wha  wedlock's  joys 

Sin  Mar's-year  did  desire, 
Because  he  gat  the  toom  dish  thrice. 

He  heav'd  them  on  the  fire 
In  wrath  that  night. 


XXVIII. 

Wi'  merry  sangs,  an'  friendly  cracks, 

I  wat  they  did  na  weary  ; 
And  unco  tales,  an'  funnie  jokes  — 

Thier  sports  were  cheap  an'  cheery  : 


Till    butter'd    sow'ns,!^    wi'    fragrant 
lunt. 
Set  a'  their  gabs  a-steerin  ; 
Syne,  wi'  a  social  glass  o'  strunt, 
They  parted  afTcareerin 

Fu'  blythe  that  night. 


THE  AULD  FARMER'S  NEW- 
YEAR  MORNING  SALUTA- 
TION TO  HIS  AULD  MARE, 
MAGGIE. 

ON  GIVING  HER  THE  ACCUSTOMED 
RIPP  OF  CORN  TO  HANSEL  IN  THE 
NEW- YEAR. 

[This  poem  was  probably  composed 
about  the  beginning  of  the  year  1786.  It 
illustrates  Burns's  warm  love  for  animals.] 

I. 

A  GuiD  New-Year  I  wish  thee,  Mag- 
gie ! 
Hae,  there  's  a  ripp  to  thy  auld  bag- 
gie : 
Tho'    thou 's    howe-backit    now,   an' 
knaggie, 

I  've  seen  the  day 
Thou  could  hae  gaen  like  onie  staggie. 
Out-owre  the  lay. 

II. 

Tho'    now    thou 's    dowie,   stiff,    an' 

crazy. 
An'  thy  auld  hide  as  white  's  a  daisie, 
I  've    seen    thee    dappl't,    sleek    an' 
glaizie, 

A  bonie  gray : 
He  should  been  tight  that  daur't  to 
raise  thee, 

Ance  in  a  day. 

III. 

Thou  ance  was  i'  the  foremost  rank, 
A  filly  buirdly,  steeve,  an'  swank ; 
An'  set  weel  down  a  shapely  shank 
As  e'er  tread  yird ; 


32 


NEW-YEAR   MORNING   SALUTATION. 


An'  could  hae  flown  out-owre  a  stank 
Like  onie  bird. 


IV. 

It 's  now  some  nine-anMwenty  year 
Sin'  thou  was  my  guid-father's  meere  ; 
He  gied  me  thee,  o'  tocher  clear, 

An'  fifty  mark ; 
Tho,  it  was  sma',  't  was  weel-won  gear, 

An'  thou  was  stark. 


When  first  I  gaed  to  woo  my  Jenny, 
Ye  then  was  trottin  wi'  your  minnie 
Tho'  ye  was  trickie,  slee,  an'  funnie, 

Ye  ne'er  was  donsie  ; 
But  hamely,  tawie,  quiet,  an'  cannie, 

An'  unco  sonsie. 


VI. 

That  day,  ye  pranc'd  wi'  muckle  pride, 
When  ye  bure  hame  my  bonie  bride  : 
An'  sweet  an'  gracefu'  she  did  ride, 

Wi'  maiden  air ! 
Kyle-Stewart  I  could  bragged  wide. 

For  sic  a  pair. 

VII. 

Tho'  now  ye  dow  but  hoyte  and  hob- 
ble, 
An'  wintle  like  a  saumont-coble, 
That  day,  ye  was  a  jinker  noble, 

For  heels  an'  win' ! 
An'  ran  them  till  they  a'  did  wauble, 

Far,  far  behin' ! 

VIII. 

When  thou  an'   I  were   young   and 

skiegh. 
An'  stable-meals  at  fairs  were  driegh, 
How  thou  wad  prance,  an'  snore,  an' 
skriegh. 

An'  tak  the  road  ! 
Town's-bodies  ran,  an'  stood  abiegh, 
An'  ca't  thee  mad. 


IX. 

When  thou  was  corn't,  an'  I  was  mel- 
low, 
We  took  the  road  ay  like  a  swallow: 
At  brooses  thou  had  ne'er  a  fellow. 

For  pith  an'  speed  ; 
But  ev'ry  tail  thou  pay't  them  hollow 

Whare'er  thou  gaed. 


X. 

The  sma',  droop-rumpl't,  hunter  cattle 
Might  aiblins  waur't  thee  for  a  brattle ; 
But  sax  Scotch  miles  thou  try't  their 
mettle. 

An'  gar't  them  whaizle  : 
Nae  whip  nor  spur,  but  just  a  wattle 

O'  saugh  or  hazle. 


XI. 

Thou  was  a  noble  fittie-lan', 
As  e'er  in  tug  or  tow  was  drawn 
Aft  thee  an'  I,  in  aught  hours'  gaun. 

On  guid  March-weather, 
Hae  turn'd  sax  rood  beside  our  han' 

For  days  thegither; 

XII. 

Thou  never  braing't,  an'  fetch't,  an' 

fliskit ; 
But  thy  auld  tail  thou  wad  hae  whiskit, 
An'    spread    abreed     thy    weel-fill'd 
brisket, 

Wi'  pith  an'  pow'r ; 
Till   sprittie  knowes   wad   rair't,  an' 
riskit. 

An'  slypet  owre. 

XIII. 

When  frosts  lay  lang,  an'  snaws  were 

deep, 
An'  threaten'd  labour  back  to  keep, 
I  gied  thy  cog  a  wee  bit  heap 

Aboon  the  timmer : 
I  ken'd  my  Maggie  wad  na  sleep 

For  that,  or  simmer. 


THE   COTTER'S    SATURDAY   NIGHT. 


53 


XIV. 

In  cart  or  car  thou  never  reestit ; 
The  steyest  brae  thou  wad  hae  fac't  it ; 
Thou  never  lap,  an'  sten't,  an'  breastit, 

Then  stood  to  blaw  ; 
But  just  thy  step  a  wee  thing  hastit. 

Thou  snoov't  avva. 


XV. 

My  pleugh  is  now  thy  bairntime  a\ 
Four  gallant  brutes  as  e'er  did  draw ; 
Forbye  sax  mae  I  've  sell't  awa, 

That  thou  hast  nurst : 
They  drew  me    thretteen   pund    an' 
twa, 

The  vera  warst. 


XVI. 

Monie  a  sair  darg  we  twa  hae  wrought, 
An'  wi'  the  weary  warl'  fought ! 
An'  monie  an  anxious  day  I  thought 

We  wad  be  beat ! 
Yet  here  to  crazy  age  we  're  brought, 

Wi'  something  yet. 


XVII. 

An'   think    na,   my   auld  trusty  ser- 

van', 
That   now   perhaps   thou 's  less   de- 

servin. 
An'  thy  auld  days  may  end  in  starvin  ; 

For  my  last  fow, 
A  heapet  stimpart,  I  '11  reserve  ane 
Laid  by  for  you. 


XVIII. 

We  've    worn    to    crazy    years    the- 

gither ; 
We  '11  toyte  about  wi'  ane  anither ; 
Wi'  tentie  care  I  '11  flit  thy  tether      ■ 

To  some  hain'd  rig, 
Whare  ye  may  nobly  rax  your  leather 

Wi'  sma'  fatigue. 


THE   COTTER'S    SATURDAY 
NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED   TO   R.   AIKEN,   ESQ. 

Le^  not  Atnbition  nwck  their  useful  toil. 
Their  hojnely  Joys,  and  destiriy  obscure  ; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile. 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

—  Gray. 

["  The  poem  is  as  manifestly  based  on 
Fergusson's  '  Farmer's  Ingle,'  as  is  '  Hal- 
loween ■  on  his  '  Hallow  Fair.'  But  Fergus- 
son  is  practically  obsolete  and  forgotten, 
eclipsed  among  his  own  people  by  the  most 
generous  of  his  admirers.  Burns's  verse  is 
original  in  its  vein  of  piety,  and  Family 
Prayers  are  unrecorded  by  the  earlier  poet, 
\vl:io  spares,  moreover,  the  lordling,  scathed, 
as  usual,  by  Burns." — Andrew  Lang. 
See  Notes.] 


My  lov'd,  my  honor'd,  much  respected 
friend  ! 
No    mercenary   bard    his   homage 
pays ; 
With  honest  pride,  I  scorn  each  self- 
ish end, 
My  dearest  meed,  a  friend's  esteem 

and  praise : 
To  you  I  sing,  in  simple  Scottish 
lays. 
The  lowly  train  in  life's  sequester'd 
scene ; 
The    native    feelings    strong,    the 
guileless  ways ; 
What  Aiken  in  a  cottage  would  have 

been ; 
Ah  !    tho'    his   worth    unknown,   far 
happier  there  I  ween  ! 

II. 

November  chill  blaws  loud  wi'  angry 
sugh  ; 
The  short'ning  winter-day  is  near 
a  close ; 
The  miry  beasts   retreating  frae  the 
pleugh ; 
The  black'ning  trains  o'  craws  to 
their  repose  : 


34 


THE   COTTER'S   SATURDAY  NIGHT. 


The  toil-worn  Cotter  frae  his  labor 

goes  — 
This  night  his  weekly  moil  is  at  an 

end, 
Collects  his  spades,  his  mattocks, 

and  his  hoes, 
Hoping  the  morn  in  ease  and  rest  to 

spend, 
And  weary,  o'er  the  moor,  his  course 

does  hameward  bend. 


III. 

At  length  his  lonely  cot  appears  in 
view. 
Beneath   the   shelter   of    an    aged 
tree ; 
Th'    expectant    wee-things,    toddlin, 
stacher  through 
To  meet  their  dad,  wi'  flichterin' 

noise  and  glee. 
His  wee  bit  ingle,  blinkin  bonilie. 
His    clean    hearth-stane,    his    thrifty 
wifie's  smile, 
The  lisping  infant,  prattling  on  his 
knee, 
Does  a'  his  weary  kiaugh   and  care 

beguile, 
And  makes  him  quite  forget  his  labor 
and  his  toil. 


IV. 

Belyve,  the  elder  bairns  come  drap- 
ping  in, 
At  service  out,  amang  the  farmers 
roun' ; 
Some  ca'  the  pleugh,  some  herd,  some 
tentie  rin 
A  cannie  errand  to  a  neebor  town : 
Their    eldest    hope,    their    Jenny, 
woman  grown, 
In  youthfu'  bloom,  love  sparkling  in 
her  e'e, 
Comes  hame  ;  perhaps,  to  shew  a 
braw  new  gown. 
Or  deposite  her  sair-won  penny-fee, 
To  help  her  parents  dear,  if  they  in 
hardship  be. 


V. 

With  joy  unfeigned,  brothers  and  sis- 
ters meet. 
And  each  for  other's  weelfare  kindly 
spiers  : 
The   social    hours,   swift-wing"d,  un- 
notic'd  fleet ; 
Each  tells  the  uncos  that  he  sees  or 

hears. 
The  parents  partial  eye  their  hope- 
ful years ; 
Anticipation  forward  points  the  view  ; 
The   mother,  wi'    her   needle   and 
her  sheers. 
Gars  auld  claes  look  amaist  as  weel  's 

the  new  ; 
The  father   mixes  a'  wi'  admonition 
due. 

VI. 

Their  master's  and   their   mistress's 

command 

The  younkers  a'  are  warned  to  obey  ; 

And  mind  their  labors  wi'  an  eydent 

hand. 

And  ne'er,  tho'  out  o'  sight,  to  jauk 

or  play : 
'And  O  !  be  sure  to  fear  the  Lord 
alway. 
And  mind  your  duty,  duly,  morn  and 
night ; 
Lest  in  temptation's  path  ye  gang 
astray, 
Implore    His    counsel    and   assisting 

might : 
They  never  sought  in  vain  that  sought 
the  Lord  aright.' 

VII. 

But  hark  !  a  rap  comes  gently  to  the 

door ; 
Jenny,  wha  kens  the  meaning  o' 

the  same, 
Tells  how  a  neebor  lad  came  o'er  the 

moor, 
To  do  some  errands,  and  convoy 

her  hame. 
The  wily  mother  sees  the  conscious 

flame 


THE  COTTER'S    SATURDAY   NIGHT. 


35 


Sparkle  in  Jenny's  e'e,  and  flush  her 
cheek  ; 
With  heart-stmck  anxious  care,  en- 
quires his  name, 

While    Jenny    hafflins    is    afraid    to 
speak ; 

Weel-pleas'd  the  mother  hears,  it  *s 
nae  wild,  worthless  rake. 


VIII. 

With  kindly  welcome,  Jenny  brings 
him  ben ; 
A   strappin'   youth,    he   takes    the 
mother's  eye  ; 
Blythe  Jenny  sees  the  visit's  no  ill 
taen ; 
The  father  cracks  of  horses,  pleughs, 

and  kye. 
The  youngster''s  artless  heart  o'er- 
flows  wi'  joy, 
But  blate  and  laithfu',  scarce  can  weel 
behave ; 
The  mother,  wi'  a  woman's  wiles, 
can  spy 
What  makes  the  youth  sae  bashfu' 

and  sae  grave ; 
Weel-pleas'd    to    think    her    bairn's 
respected  like  the  lave. 


IX. 

0  happy  love!  where  love  like  this  is 

found  : 
O  heart-felt  raptures  !  bliss  beyond 
compare ! 

1  've  paced  much  this  weary,  mortal 

round. 
And  sage  experience  bids  me  this 

declare  :  — 
'  If  Heaven  a  draught  of  heavenly 
pleasure  spare. 
One  cordial  in  this  melancholy  vale, 
'T  is  when  a  youthful,  loving,  mod- 
est pair. 
In  other's  arms,  breathe  out  the  tender 

tale 
Beneath    the    milk-white    thorn    that 
scents  the  ev'ning  gale.' 


Is  there,  in  human  form,  that  bears  a 
heart, 
A  wretch  !    a  villain  !    lost  to  love 
and  truth  ! 
That  can,  with  studied,  sly,  ensnaring 
art, 
Betray  sweet  Jenny's  unsuspecting 

youth  ? 
Curse  on  his  perjur'd  arts!  dissem- 
bling, smooth  ! 
Are    honor,    virtue,    conscience,    all 
exil'd  ? 
Is  there  no  pity,  no  relenting  mth, 
Points   to  the  parents  fondling  o'er 

their  child? 
Then   paints    the    ruin'd    maid,   and 
their  distraction  wild  .'* 


XI. 

But    now   the   supper   crowns    their 
simple  board. 
The    healsome    parritch,    chief  o' 
Scotia's  food  ; 
The  soupe    their   only  hawkie   does 
afford, 
That,  'vont  the  hallan  snuglv  chows 

her  cood ; 
The  dame  brings  forth,  in  compli- 
mental  mood, 
To   grace    the   lad,   her   weel-hain'd 
kebbuck,  fell ; 
And  aft  he's  prest,  and  aft  he  ca's 
it  guid ; 
The  frugal  wifie,  garmlous,  will  tell. 
How  "t  was  a  towmond  auld,  sin'  lint 
was  i'  the  bell. 


XII. 

The  chearfu'  supper  done,  wi'  serious 
face. 
They,  round  the  ingle,  form  a  circle 
wide ; 
The  sire  turns    o'er,   wi'   patriarchal 
grace, 
The  big  ha'-Bible,  ance  his  father's 
pride. 


36 


THE   COTTER'S   SATURDAY  NIGHT. 


His  bonnet  revVently  is  laid  aside. 

His   lyart   hafFets  wearing   thin   and 

bare; 

Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet 

in  Zion  glide, 

He   wales   a   portion    with  judicious 

care, 
And  '  Let  us  worship  God  ! '  he  says, 
with  solemn  air. 


XIII. 

They   chant    their   artless    notes    in 
simple  guise, 
They  tune  their  hearts,  by  far  the 
noblest  aim ; 
Perhaps  Dundee's  wild-warbling  meas- 
ures rise. 
Or  plaintive  Martyrs^  worthy   of 

the  name ; 
Or  noble  Elgin  beets  the  heaven- 
ward flame. 
The    sweetest    far    of   Scotia's    holy 
lays  : 
Compared  with  these,  Italian  trills 
are  tame ; 
The  tickPd  ears  no  heart-felt  raptures 

raise ; 
Nae  unison  hae  they,  with  our  Crea- 
tor's praise. 


XIV. 

The  priest-like  father  reads  the  sacred 
page. 
How  Abram  was  the  friend  of  God 
on  high ; 
(Or,  Moses  bade  eternal  warfare  wage 
\     With   Amalek's    ungracious   prog- 
eny ; 
Or,  how  the  royal  Bard  did  groan- 
ing lie 
Beneath     the     stroke    of     Heaven's 
avenging  ire ; 
Or  Job's  pathetic  plaint,  and  wail- 
ing  cry ; 
/  Or  rapt  Isaiah's  wild,  seraphic  fire  ; 
Or   other  holy  Seers   that    tune   the 
sacred  lyre. 


XV. 

Perhaps  the  Christian  volume  is  the 
theme : 
How  guiltless  blood  for  guilty  man 
was  shed ; 
How  He,  who  bore  in   Heaven   the 
second  name. 
Had  not  on  earth  whereon  to  lay 

His  head ; 
How   His  first  followers  and  ser- 
vants sped ; 
The  precepts  sage  they  wrote  to  many 
a  land  : 
How  he,  who  lone  in  Patmos  ban- 
ished, 
Saw  in  the  sun  a  mighty  angel  stand, 
And  heard  great  Bab'lon's  doom  pro- 
nounc'd  by  Heaven's  command. 

XVI. 

Then   kneeling   down    to    Heaven's 
Eternal  King, 
The  saint,  the  father,  and  the  hus- 
band prays : 
Hope  '  springs  exulting  on  triumphant 
wing,' 
That   thus  they  all  shall  meet  in 

future  days. 
There,  ever  bask  in  uncreated  rays, 
No  more  to  sigh  or  shed  the  bitter 
tear. 
Together  hymning  their  Creator's 
praise. 
In  such  society,  yet  still  more  dear ; 
While  circling  Time  moves  round  in 
an  eternal  sphere. 

XVII. 

Compar'd  with  this,  how  poor  Reli- 
gion's pride. 

In  all  the  pomp  of  method,  and  of 
art ; 
When  men  display  to  congregations 
wide 

Devotion's  ev'ry  grace,  except  the 
heart 

The  Power,  incens'd,  the  pageant 
will  desert. 


TO  A   MOUSE. 


37 


The  pompous  strain,  the    sacerdotal 

stole  : 
But  haply,  in  some  cottage  far  apart. 
May  hear,  well-pleas'd,  the  language 

of  the  soul. 
And  in  His  Book  of  Life  the  inmates 

poor  enroll. 

XVIII. 

Then   homeward   all   take   off   their 
several  way  ; 
The  youngling  cottagers   retire  to 
rest : 
The  parent-pair  their  secret  homage 
pay. 
And  proffer  up  to  Heaven  the  warm 

request. 
That    He   who    stills    the    raven's 
clam'rous  nest, 
And    decks    the    lily    fair  in  flow'ry 
pride. 
Would,  in  the  way  His  wisdom  sees 
the  best, 
For  them   and   for   their   little   ones 

provide ; 
But,  chiefly,  in  their  hearts  with  Grace 
Divine  preside. 


XIX. 

From  scenes  like  these,  old  Scotia's 
grandeur  springs, 
That   makes    her   lov'd    at    home, 
rever'd  abroad : 
Princes  and  lords  are  but  the  breath 
of  kings, 
'  An  honest  man 's  the  noblest  work 

of  God ' ; 
And  certes,  in  fair  Virtue's  heavenly 
road. 
The  cottage  leaves  the  palace  far  be- 
hind ; 
What  is  a  lordling's  pomp  ?  a  cum- 
brous load. 
Disguising  oft  the  wretch  of  human 

kind, 
Studied  in  arts  of  Hell,  in  wickedness 
refin'd  ! 


XX. 

O  Scotia  !  my  dear,  my  native  soil  ! 
For   whom   my    warmest   wish    to 
Heaven  is  sent ! 
Long  may  thy  hardy  sons  of  rustic 
toil 
Be   blest  with    health,  and  peace, 

and  sweet  content ! 
And  O  !  may  Heaven  their  simple 
lives  prevent 
From  Luxury's  contagion,  weak  and 
vile  ! 
Then,  howe'er  crowns  and  coronets 
be  rent, 
A   virtuous    populace   may   rise    the 

while. 
And  stand  a  wall  of  fire  around  their 
much-lov'd  Isle. 


XXI. 

O   Thou !    who   pour'd   the  patriotic 
tide. 
That  stream'd  thro'  Wallace's  un- 
daunted heart. 
Who  dar'd  to,  nobly,  stem  tyrannic 
pride. 
Or  nobly  die,  the  second  glorious 

part: 
(The  patriot's  God,  peculiarly  Thou 
art, 
His   friend,    inspirer,   guardian,   and 
reward  !) 
O  never,  never  Scotia's  realm  de- 
sert ; 
But  still  the  patriot,  and  the  patriot- 
bard 
In  bright  succession  raise,  her  orna- 
ment and  guard  ! 


TO   A   MOUSE. 

ox    TURNING    HER    UP    IN    HER    NEST 
W^ITH      THE      PLOUGH,     NOVEMBER 

1785. 

[Gilbert  Burns  testifies  that  the  verses  to 
the  "Mouse"  were  suggested  by  the  inci- 


3^ 


EPISTLE  TO   DAVIE,   A  BROTHER   POET. 


dent  in  the  heading  of  the  poem,  and  com- 
posed while  the  author  was  holding  the 
plough.] 


I. 

Wee,  sleekit,  cowrin,  tim'rous  beastie, 
O,  what  a  panic 's  in  thy  breastie  ! 
Thou  need  na  start  awa  sae  hasty 

Wi'  bickering  brattle! 
I  wad  be  laith  to  rin  an'  chase  thee, 

Wi'  murdering  pattle  ! 

II. 

I  'm  truly  sorry  man's  dominion 
Has  broken  Nature's  social  union, 
An'  justifies  that  ill  opinion 

Which  makes  thee  startle 
At  me,  thy  poor,  earth-born  compan- 
ion 

An'  fellow  mortal  ! 

III. 

I    doubt    na,  whyles,  but   thou   may 

thieve ; 
What  then?  poor  beastie,  thou  maun 

live  ! 
A  daimen  icker  in  a  thrave 

'S  a  sma'  request ; 

I  '11  get  a  blessin  wi'  the  lave, 

An'  never  miss 't ! 


IV. 

Thy  wee-bit  housie,  too,  in  ruin  ! 
Its  silly  wa's  the  win's  are  strewin  ! 
An'  naething,  now,  to  big  a  new  ane, 

O'  foggage  green  ! 
An'  bleak  December's  win's  ensuin, 

Baith  snell  an'  keen  ! 


V. 

Thou   saw  the    fields  laid    bare   an' 

waste, 
An'  weary  winter  comin  fast. 
An'  cozie  here,  beneath  the  blast, 

Thou  thought  to  dwell. 
Till  crash  !  the  cruel  coulter  past 
Out  thro'  thy  cell. 


VI. 

That  wee  bit  heap  o'  leaves  an'  stib- 

ble, 
Has  cost  thee  monie  a  weary  nibble  ! 
Now  thou 's   turned   out,  for  a'  thy 
trouble, 

But  house  or  hald. 
To  thole  the  winter's  sleety  dribble, 
An'  cranreuch  cauld ! 


VII. 

But  Mousie,  thou  art  no  thy  lane, 
In  proving  foresight  may  be  vain : 
The  best-laid  schemes   o'   mice   an' 
men 

Gang  aft  agley. 
An'  lea'e  us  nought  but  grief  an'  pain, 

For  promis'd  joy ! 


VIII. 

Still  thou  are  blest,  compared  wi'  me! 
The  present  only  toucheth  thee  : 
But  och  !  I  backward  cast  my  e'e, 

On  prospects  drear! 
An'  forward,  tho'  I  canna  see, 

I  guess  an'  fear  ! 


EPISTLE   TO   DAVIE,   A 
BROTHER   POET. 

JANUARY. 

[The  "  Davie  "  of  the  "  Epistle  "  was 
David  Sillar,  who  published  in  1789  a  vol- 
ume of  Poems  in  imitation  of  Burns,  who 
helped  him  to  get  subscribers.  He  died 
May  2,  1830.] 

I. 

While  winds  frae  aff  Ben-Lomond 

blaw. 
And  bar  the  doors  wi'  drivin  snaw, 

And  hing  us  owre  the  ingle, 
I  set  me  down  to  pass  the  time, 
And  spin  a  verse  or  twa  o'  rhyme, 

In  hamely,  westlin  jingle  : 


EPISTLE  TO   DAVIE,   A   BROTHER   POET. 


39 


While  frosty  winds  blaw  in  the  drift, 

Ben  to  the  chimla  lug, 
I  grudge  a  wee  the  great-folk's  gift. 
That  live  sae  bien  an'  snug : 
I  tent  less,  and  want  less 
Their  roomy  fire-side ; 
But  hanker,  and  canker. 
To  see  their  cursed  pride. 

II. 

It 's  hardly  in  a  body's  pow'r, 

To  keep,  at  times,  frae  being  sour, 

To  see  how  things  are  shar"d ; 
How  best  o'  chiels  are  whyles  in  want. 
While  coofs  on  countless  thousands 
rant. 
And  ken  na  how  to  ware  *t ; 
But  Davie,  lad,  ne'er  fash  your  head, 

Tho'  we  hae  little  gear ; 
We  Ye  fit  to  win  our  daily  bread. 
As  lang  's  we  "re  hale  and  fier : 
'  Mair  spier  na,  nor  fear  na,' 

Auld  age  ne'er  mind  a  feg ; 
The  last  o't,  the  warst  o't, 
Is  only  but  to  beg. 

III. 

To  lie  in  kilns  and  barns  at  e'en. 
When  banes  are  craz'd,  and  bluid  is 
thin. 
Is,  doubtless,  great  distress  ! 
Yet  then  content  could  make  us  blest ; 
Ev'n  then,  sometimes,  we  'd  snatch  a 
taste 
Of  truest  happiness. 
The  honest  heart  that 's  free  frae  a' 

Intended  fraud  or  guile. 
However  Fortune  kick  the  ba'. 
Has  ay  some  cause  to  smile ; 
And  mind  still,  you'll  find  still, 

A  comfort  this  nae  sma' ; 
Nae  mair  then,  we  11  care  then, 
Nae  farther  can  we  fa'. 


IV. 

What  tho',  like  commoners  of  air, 
We  wander  out,  we  know  not  where. 
But  either  house  or  haP? 


Yet   Nature's   charms,  the  hills  and 

woods. 
The    sweeping   vales,   and    foaming 
floods. 
Are  free  alike  to  all. 
In  days  when  daisies  deck  the  ground, 

And  blackbirds  whistle  clear. 
With    honest    joy    our    hearts    will 
bound. 
To  see  the  coming  year  : 

On  braes  when  we  please  then. 

We  '11  sit  an'  sowth  a  tune  ; 
Syne  rhyme  till 't  we  '11  time  till 't, 
An'  sing't  when  we  hae  done. 


V. 

It 's  no  in  titles  nor  in  rank : 

It 's  no  in  wealth  like  Lon'on  Bank, 

To  purchase  peace  and  rest. 
It's  no  in  makin  muckle,  mair; 
It 's  no  in  books,  it 's  no  in  lear, 

To  make  us  truly  blest  : 
If  happiness  hae  not  her  seat 

An'  centre  in  the  breast, 
We  may  be  wise,  or  rich,  or  great. 
But  never  can  be  blest  ! 
Nae  treasures  nor  pleasures 

Could  make  us  happy  lang ; 
The  heart  ay 's  the  part  ay 

That  makes  us  right  or  wrang. 


VI. 


Think  ye,  that  sic  as  you  and  I, 
Wha  drudge  and  drive  thro'  v>et  and 
dry, 
Wi'  never  ceasing  toil ; 
Think  ye,  are  we  less  blest  than  they, 
Wha  scarcely  tent  us  in  their  way, 

As  hardly  worth  their  while? 
Alas  !  how  oft,  in  haughty  mood, 

God's  creatures  they  oppress  ! 
Or  else,  neglecting  a'  that 's  guid. 
They  riot  in  excess  ! 

Baith  careless  and  fearless 

Of  either  Heaven  or  Hell; 
Esteeming  and  deeming 
It  a'  an  idle  tale  ! 


40 


THE  LAMENT. 


VII. 

Then  let  us  chearfu''  acquiesce, 
Nor  make  our  scanty  pleasures  less 

By  pining  at  our  state  : 
And,  even  should  misfortunes  come, 
I  here  wha  sit  hae  met  wi^  some, 

An 's  thankfu'  for  them  yet. 
They  gie  the  wit  of  age  to  youth ; 

They  let  us  ken  oursel ; 
They  make  us  see  the  naked  truth, 
The  real  guid  and  ill : 
Tho'  losses  and  crosses 

Be  lessons  right  severe, 
There 's  wit  there,  ye  '11  get  there, 
Ye  Ul  find  nae  other  where. 

VIII. 

But  tent  me,  Davie,  ace  o^  hearts  ! 
(To  say  aught  less  wad  wrang  the 
cartes, 
And  flatt'ry  I  detest) 
This  life  has  joys  for  you  and  I ; 
And  joys  that  riches  ne'er  could  bu}^. 

And  joys  the  very  best. 
There 's  a'  the  pleasures  o'  the  heart. 

The  lover  an'  the  frien' : 
Ye  hae  your  Meg,  your  dearest  part, 
And  I  my  darling  Jean  ! 
It  warms  me,  it  charms  me 

To  mention  but  her  name  : 
It  heats  me,  it  beets  me. 
And  sets  me  a'  on  flame  ! 

IX. 

O  all  ye  Pow'rs  who  rule  above ! 
O  Thou  whose  very  self  art  love  ! 

Thou  know'st  my  words  sincere  ! 
The   life-blood    streaming   thro'   my 

heart, 
Or  my  more  dear  immortal  part. 

Is  not  more  fondly  dear  ! 
When  heart-corroding  care  and  grief 

Deprive  my  soul  of  rest. 
Her  dear  idea  brings  relief 
And  solace  to  my  breast. 
Thou  Being  All-seeing, 

O,  hear  my  fervent  pray'r  ! 
Still  take  her,  and  make  her 
Thy  most  peculiar  care  ! 


X. 

All  hail !  ye  tender  feeUngs  dear  ! 
The  smile  of  love,  the  friendly  tear, 

The  sympathetic  glow  ! 
Long  since,  this  world's  thorny  ways 
Had  number'd  out  my  weary  days, 

Had  it  not  been  for  you  ! 
Fate  still  has  blest  me  with  a  friend 

In  every  care  and  ill ; 
And  oft  a  more  endearing  band, 
A  tie  more  tender  still. 
It  lightens,  it  brightens 
The  tenebrific  scene. 
To  meet  with,  and  greet  with 
My  Davie  or  my  Jean  ! 


XI. 

O,  how  that  Name  inspires  my  style! 
The   words   come   skelpin   rank   an' 
file, 
Amaist  before  I  ken! 
The  ready  measure  rins  as  fine. 
As  Phoebus  and  the  famous  Nine 

Were  glowrin  owre  my  pen. 
My  spaviet  Pegasus  will  limp. 

Till  ance  he  's  fairly  het ; 
And   then   he'll   hilch,  an'  stilt,  an' 
jimp. 
And  rin  an  unco  fit ; 

But  least  then,  the  beast  then 
Should  rue  this  hasty  ride, 
I  '11  light  now,  and  dight  now 
His  sweaty,  wizen'd  hide. 


THE    LAMENT. 

OCCASIONED    BY    THE    UNFORTUNATE 
ISSUE   OF   A   friend's   AMOUR. 

Alas!  how  oft  does  Goodness  wound  itself, 
Arid  siveet  Affection  prove  the  spring   of 
Woe! 

—  Home. 

["  The  unfortunate  issue,"  not  of  a 
"friend's,"  but  of  his  own  "amour"  — 
(when  Jean  Armour,  overborne  by  paternal 
authority,  agreed  to   discard  him) — was, 


THE   LAMENT. 


41 


Burns    declares,    the     "  unfortunate    story 
alluded  to"  in  the  "Lament."] 


I. 

0  THOU  pale  Orb  that  silent  shines 
While    care  -  untroubled    mortals 

sleep  ! 

1  nou  seest  a  wretch  who  inly  pines. 

And    wanders    here    to    wail   and 
weep  ! 

With  Woe  I  nightly  vigils  keep, 
Beneath  thy  wan,  un warming  beam  ; 

And  mourn,  in  lamentation  deep, 
How^  life  and  love  are  all  a  dream! 


II. 

I  joyless  view  thy  rays  adorn 
The  faintly-marked,  distant  hill ; 

I  joyless  view  thy  trembling  horn 
Reflected  in  the  gurgling  rill : 
My  fondly-fluttering  heart,  be  still! 

Thou    busy    powV,    Remembrance, 
cease  ! 
Ah  !  must  the  agonizing  thrill 

For  ever  bar  returning  Peace? 


III. 

No  idly-feign'd,  poetic  pains 

My  sad.  love-lorn  lamentings  claim : 
No  shepherd's  pipe — Arcadian  strains ; 

No    fabled    tortures    quaint    and 
tame. 

The    plighted    faith,   the    mutual 
flame. 
The  oft-attested  PowVs  above, 

The  promised  father's  tender  name, 
These  were  the  pledges  of  my  love  ! 

IV. 

Jincircled  in  her  clasping  arms. 
How   have  the  raptur'd    moments 
flown  ! 
How   have    I    wished    for    Fortune's 
charms. 
For  her  dear  sake,  and  her's  alone  I 
And,  must  I  think  it !  is  she  gone. 


My  secret  heart's  exulting  boast  ? 
And  does  she   heedless   hear  my 
groan  ? 
And  is  she  ever,  ever  lost? 


O !  can  she  bear  so  base  a  heart, 

So  lost  to  honour,  lost  to  truth, 
As  from  the  fondest  lover  part, 
The     plighted     husband     of    her 

youth  ? 
Alas  !  Life's  path  may  be  unsmooth! 
Her  way  may  lie  thro'  rough  distress  ! 
Then,  w'ho   her  pangs   and   pains 
will  soothe, 
Her  sorrows  share,  and  make  them 
less? 

VI. 

Ye  winged  Hours  that  o'er  us  pass'd, 

Enraptur'd  more  the  more  enjoy'd. 
Your  dear  remembrance  in  my  breast 

My  fondly  treasur'd  thoughts  em- 
ployed : 

That  breast,  how  dreary  now,  and 
void. 
For  her  too  scanty  once  of  room  ! 

Ev'n  ev'ry  ray  of  Hope  destroy'd. 
And  not  a  wish  to  gild  the  gloom  ! 

VII. 

The  morn,  that  warns  th'  approach- 
ing day. 
Awakes  me  up  to  toil  and  woe ; 
I  see  the  hours  in  long  array. 

That  I  must  suffer,  lingering  slow : 
Full    many   a   pang,   and   many  a 
throe, 
Keen  Recollection's  direful  train. 
Must  wiring  my  soul,  ere  Phoebus, 
low. 
Shall  kiss  the  distant  western  main. 


VIII. 

And  when  my  nightly  couch  I  try, 
Sore-harass'd    out   with    care   and 
grief, 


42 


DESPONDENCY. 


My  toil-beat  nerves  and  tear-worn  eye 
Keep  watchings  with   the  nightly 

thief: 
Or,  if  I  slumber,  Fancy,  chief, 

Reigns,  haggard-wild,  in  sore  affright : 
Ev'n  day,  all-bitter,  brings  relief 

From  such  a  horror-breathing  night. 

IX. 

O  thou  bright  Queen,  who,  o'er  th' 
expanse 
Now  highest  reign'st,  with  bound- 
less sway  ! 
Oft  has  thy  silent-marking  glance 
Observ"d  us,  fondly- wandVing,  stray ! 
The  time,  unheeded,  sped  away. 
While    Love's   luxurious    pulse    beat 
high. 
Beneath  thy  silver-gleaming  ray, 
To  mark  the  mutual-kindling  eye. 


X. 

O  scenes  in  strong  remembrance  set ! 

Scenes,  never,  never  to  return! 
Scenes  if  in  stupor  I  forget. 

Again  I  feel,  again  I  burn  ! 

From  evVy  joy  and  pleasure  torn. 
Life's  weary  vale  I  wander  thro' ; 

And     hopeless,     comfortless,     I  "11 
mourn 
A  faithless  woman's  broken  vow  ! 


DESPONDENCY. 

An  Ode. 

[Composed,  no  doubt,  a  little  after  the 
"Lament."  "Jean,  it  seems,  had  gone  to 
Paisley.  Highland  Mary  now  occupied  the 
empty  heart." — ANDREW  LANG.] 


Oppress'd  with  grief,  oppressed  with 

care, 
A  burden  more  than  I  can  bear, 

I  set  me  down  and  sigh  ; 
O  Life  !  thou  art  a  galling  load, 


Along  a  rough,  a  weary  road, 

To  wretches  such  as  I !  \ 

Dim-backward,  as  I  cast  my  view,  n 

What  sick'ning  scenes  appear  ! 
What  sorrow^s  yet  may  pierce  me  thro', 
Too  justly  I  may  fear ! 
Still  caring,  despairing, 

Must  be  my  bitter  doom  ; 
My  woes  here  shall  close  ne'er 
But  with  the  closing  tomb! 


II. 

Happy  ye  sons  of  busy  life. 
Who,  equal  to  the  bustling  strife, 

No  other  view  regard  ! 
Ev'n  when  the  wished  end  's  denied, 
Yet  while  the  busy  means  are  plied, 

They  bring  their  own  reward : 
Whilst  I,  a  hope-abandoned  wight, 

Unfitted  with  an  aim, 
Meet  ev'ry  sad  returning  night 
And  joyless  morn  the  same. 
You,  bustling  and  justling. 

Forget  each  grief  and  pain  ; 
I,  listless  yet  restless. 
Find  ev'ry  prospect  vain. 

III. 

How  blest  the  Solitary's  lot. 
Who,  all-forgetting,  all-forgot. 

Within  his  humble  cell  — 
The  cavern,  wild  with  tangling  roots  — 
Sits  o'er  his  newly-gather'd  fruits, 

Beside  his  crystal  well! 
Or  haply  to  his  ev'ning  thought. 

By  unfrequented  stream. 
The  ways  of  men  are  distant  brought, 
A  faint-collected  dream ; 
While  praising,  and  raising 

His  thoughts  to  Heav'n  on  high, 
As  wand'ring,  meand'ring. 
He  views  the  solemn  sky. 

IV. 

Than  I,  no  lonely  hermit  plac'd 
Where  never  human  footstep  trac'd 

Less  fit  to  play  the  part ; 
The  lucky  moment  to  improve, 


MAN   WAS   MADE  TO   MOURN. 


43 


And  just  to  stop,  and  just  to  move, 

With  self-respecting  art : 
But  ah  !   those  pleasures,  loves,  and 
joys. 
Which  I  too  keenly  taste. 
The  Solitary  can  despise — • 
Can  want  and  yet  be  blest! 
He  needs  not,  he  heeds  not 

Or  human  love  or  hate  ; 
Whilst  I  here  must  cry  here 
At  perfidy  ingrate  ! 


O  enviable  early  days, 
Wlien  dancing  thoughtless  pleasure's 
maze, 
To  care,  to  guilt  unknown  ! 
How  ill  exchanged  for  riper  time 
To  feel  the  follies  or  the  crimes 

Of  others,  or  my  own  ! 
Ye  tiny  elves  that  guiltless  sport, 

Like  linnets  in  the  bush. 
Ye  little  know  the  ills  ye  court. 
When  manhood  is  your  wish  ! 
The  losses,  the  crosses 

That  active  man  engage  ; 
The  fears  all,  the  tears  all 
Of  dim  declining  Age  ! 


MAN  WAS  MADE  TO  MOURN. 

A  Dirge. 

[In  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  Aug.  lo, 
1788,  Burns  tells  of  an  old  grand-uncle  who 
had  gone  blind.  "  His  most  voluptuous 
enjoyment  was  to  sit  down  and  cry,  while 
my  mother  would  sing  the  simple  old  song 
of '  The  Life  and  Age  of  Man.'  "] 


When  chill  November's  surly  blast 

Made  fields  and  forests  bare, 
One  ev'ning,  as  I  wand'red  forth 

Along  the  banks  of  Ayr, 
I  spied  a  man,  whose  aged  step 

Seem'd  weary,  worn  with  care. 
His  face  was  furrow'd  o'er  with  years. 

And  hoary  was  his  hair. 


II. 

^  Young  stranger,  whither  wandVest 

thou? 
Began  the  rev'rend  Sage  ; 
'  Does  thirst  of  wealth  thy  step  con- 
strain. 
Or  youthful  pleasure's  rage? 
Or  haply,  prest  with  cares  and  woes. 

Too  soon  thou  hast  began 
To  wander  forth,  with  me  to  mourn 
The  miseries  of  Man. 

III. 

'  The  sun  that  overhangs  yon  moors. 

Out-spreading  far  and  wide. 
Where  hundreds  labour  to  support 

A  haughty  lordling's  pride  : 
I've  seen  yon  wTary  winter-sun 

Twice  forty  times  return  ; 
And  ev'ry  time  has  added  proofs, 

That  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 


IV. 

'  O  Man  !  while  in  thy  early  years, 

How  prodigal  of  time  ! 
Mis-spending  all  thy  precious  hours. 

Thy  glorious,  youthful  prime  ! 
Alternate  follies  take  the  sway, 

Licentious  passions  burn  : 
Which  tenfold  force   gives    Nature's 
law. 

That  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 


V. 

'  Look  not  alone  on  youthful  prime. 

Or  manhood's  active  might : 
Man  then  is  useful  to  his  kind. 

Supported  is  his  right ; 
But  see  him  on  the  edge  of  life. 

With  cares  and  sorrows  worn  : 
Then  Age  and  Want  —  O  ill-match\l 
pair  !  — 

Shew  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 


VI. 

'  A  few  seem  favourites  of  Fate, 
In  Pleasure's  lap  carest ; 


44 


WINTER. 


Yet  think  not  all  the  rich  and  great 

Are  likewise  truly  blest : 
But  oh  !  what  crowds  in  ev'ry  land, 

All  wTetched  and  forlorn, 
Thro'  weary  life  this  lesson  learn, 

That  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 

VII. 

'  Many  and  sharp  the  num'rous  ills 

Inwoven  with  our  frame  ! 
More  pointed  still  we  make  ourselves 

Regret,  remorse,  and  shame  ! 
And  Man,  whose  heav'n-erected  face 

The  smiles  of  love  adorn,  — 
Man's  inhumanity  to  man 

Makes  countless  thousands  mourn! 

VIII. 

^See  yonder  poor,  o'erlabour'd  wight, 

So  abject,  mean,  and  vile, 
Who  begs  a  brother  of  the  earth 

To  give  him  leave  to  toil ; 
And  see  his  lordly  fellow-worm 

The  poor  petition  spurn. 
Unmindful,  tho'  a  weeping  wife 

And  helpless  offspring  mourn. 

IX. 

'  If  I  'm  design^  yon  lordling's  slave — 

By  Nature's  law  designed  — 
Why  was  an  independent  wish 

E'er  planted  in  my  mind? 
If  not,  why  am  I  subject  to 

His  cruelty,  or  scorn? 
Or  why  has  Man  the  will  and  pow'r 

To  make  his  fellow  mourn? 


X. 

'  Yet  let  not  this  too  much,  my  son, 

Disturb  thy  youthful  breast : 
This  partial  view  of  human-kind 

Is  surely  not  the  last ! 
The  poor,  oppressed,  honest  man 

Had  never,  sure,  been  born, 
Had    there    not   been    some   recom- 
pense 

To  comfort  those  that  mourn  ! 


XI. 

'  O  Death  !   the   poor   man's  dearest 
friend. 

The  kindest  and  the  best ! 
Welcome  the  hour  my  aged  limbs 

Are  laid  with  thee  at  rest  ! 
The  great,  the  wealthy  fear  thy  blow, 

From  pomp  and  pleasure  torn ; 
But,  oh  !  a  blest  relief  to  those 

That  weary-laden  mourn  ! ' 


WINTER. 

A  DIRGE. 

[The  poet,  in  1787,  notes  this  as  being 
the  oldest  of  his  printed  poems.  In  April, 
1784,  he  had  inserted  it  in  his  "Common- 
Place  Book,"  prefaced  with  some  eloquent 
remarks.  Gilbert  Burns  affirms  it  to  be  a 
juvenile  production.] 

I. 

The  wintry  west  extends  his  blast, 

And  hail  and  rain  does  blaw ; 
Or  the   stormy  north  sends   driving 
forth 

The  blinding  sleet  and  snaw : 
Wild-tumbling  brown,  the  burn  comes 
down. 

And  roars  frae  bank  to  brae : 
While  bird  and  beast  in  covert  rest, 

And  pass  the  heartless  day. 

II. 

'  The  sweeping  blast,  the  sky  overcast,' 

The  joyless  winter  day 
Let  others  fear,  to  me  more  dear 

Than  all  the  pride  of  May : 
The   tempest's   howl,  it  soothes  my 
soul. 

My  griefs  it  seems  to  join ; 
The  leafless  trees  my  fancy  please, 

Their  fate  resembles  mine  ! 

III. 
Thou  PowV  Supreme,  whose  mighty 
scheme 
These  woes  of  mine  fulfil, 


TO  A  MOUNTAIN  DAISY. 


45 


Here,  firm  I  rest,  they  must  be  best, 
Because  they  are  Thy  will  ! 

Then  all  I  want  (O,  do  Thou  grant 
This  one  request  of  mine  !)  : 

Since  to  enjoy  Thou  dost  deny, 
Assist  me  to  resign. 


A  PRAYER  IN  THE  PROS- 
PECT OF  DEATH. 

[The  poet  entered  these  verses  in  his 
early  "  Common-Place  Book "  under  this 
title :  "  A  prayer  when  fainting-fits,  and 
other  alarming  symptoms  of  a  pleurisy  or 
some  other  dangerous  disorder,  which  in- 
deed still  threaten  me,  first  put  nature  on 
the  alarm."  It  has  been  assigned  by  some 
authorities  to  the  year  1781 ;  by  others,  to 
the  year  1784.] 

O  Thou  unknown,  Almighty  Cause 

Of  all  my  hope  and  fear  ! 
In  whose  dread  presence,  ere  an  hour, 

Perhaps  I  must  appear  ! 

If  I  have  w^anderd  in  those  paths 

Of  life  I  ought  to  shun  — 
As  something,  loudly,  in  my  breast, 

Remonstrates  I  have  done  — 

Thou  know'st  that  Thou  hast  formed 
me 

With  passions  wild  and  strong ; 
And  listening  to  their  witching  voice 

Has  often  led  me  wrong. 

Where   human   weakness   has   come 
short. 
Or  frailty  stept  aside. 
Do  Thou,  All-good  —  for  such  Thou 
art —  ^ 

In  shades  of  darkness  hide. 

Where  with  intention  I  have  err'd, 

No  other  plea  I  haye. 
But,  Thou  art  good ;  and  Goodness 
still 

Delighteth  to  forgive. 


TO   A  MOUNTAIN   DAISY. 

ON    TURNING    ONE    DOWN    WITH    THE 
PLOUGH   IN   APRIL    1 786. 

[On  the  20th  of  April,  1786,  the  poet 
transcribed  these  verses,  under  the  title  of 
"The  Gowan,"  to  his  friend  John  Kennedy, 
with  these  words :  "  1  have  here  enclosed  a 
small  piece,  the  very  latest  of  my  produc- 
tions," etc.] 

T. 

Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flowV, 
Thou  's  met  me  in  an  evil  hour  ; 
For  I  maun  crush  amang  the  stoure 

Thy  slender  stem  : 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  powV, 

Thou  bonie  gem. 


II. 

Alas  !  it 's  no  thy  neebor  sweet, 
The  bonie  lark,  cornpanion  meet, 
Bending  thee  'mang  the  dewy  weet, 

Wi'  spreckl'd  breast ! 
When    upward-springing,   blythe,   to 
greet 

The  purpling  east. 


III. 

Cauld  blew  the  bitter-biting  north 
Upon  thy  early,  humble  birth  ; 
Yet  cheerfully  thou  glinted  forth 

Amid  the  storm, 
Scarce  rear'd  above  the  parent-earth 

Thy  tender  form. 


IV. 

The    flaunting    flow'rs   our  gardens 

yield. 
High    sheltVing    woods     and     wa's 

maun  shield ; 
But  thou,  beneath  the  random  bield 

O'  clod  or  stane. 
Adorns  the  histie  stibble-field, 
Unseen,  alane. 


46 


TO   RUIN. 


V. 

There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad, 
Thy  snawie  bosom  sun-ward  spread, 
Thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head 

In  humble  guise ; 
But  now  the  share  uptears  thy  bed, 

And  low  thou  lies! 


VI. 

Such  is  the  fate  of  artless  maid, 
Sweet  flowYet  of  the  rural  shade  ! 
By  love's  simplicity  betray'd. 

And  guileless  trust ; 
Till  she,  like  thee,  all  soiPd,  is  laid 

Low  i'  the  dust. 


VII. 

Such  is  the  fate  of  simple  Bard, 

On     Life's     rough     ocean    luckless 

starred ! 
Unskilful  he  to  note  the  card 

Of  prudent  lore, 
Till   billows    rage,   and    gales    blow 
hard, 

And  whelm  him  o'er ! 


VIII. 

Such  fate  to  suffering  Worth  is  giv'n, 
Who  long  with  wants  and  woes  has 

striv'n. 
By  human   pride   or  cunning  driv'n 

To  misVy's  brink ; 
Till,    wrench'd    of    ev'ry    stay    but 
Heav'n, 

He,  ruinM,  sink! 


IX. 

Ev'n  thou  who  mourn'st  the  Daisy's 

fate. 
That  fate  is  thine  —  no  distant  date  ; 
Stern    Ruin's     plough-share     drives 
elate, 

Full  on  thy  bloom. 
Till    crush'd    beneath    the    furrow's 
weight  ^ 

Shall  be  thy  doom  ! 


TO  RUIN. 

[It  would  appear  that  this  piece  dates 
from  the  close  of  Burns's  residence  at 
Irvine,  in  1782,  when,  to  crown  his  mis- 
fortunes, he  was,  as  he  relates  in  his  Auto- 
biographical Letter,  jilted,  "with  peculiar 
circumstances  of  mortification,"  by  one 
"  who  had  pledged  her  soul  to  marry 
him."] 


I. 


All  hail,   inexorable  lord! 
At      whose      destruction  -  breathing 
word, 
The  mightiest  empires  fall! 
Thy  cruel,  woe-delighted  train, 
The  ministers  of  grief  and  pain, 

A  sullen  welcome,  all ! 
With  stern-resolv'd,  despairing   eye, 

I  see  each  aimed  dart ; 
For  one  has  cut  my  dearest  tie. 
And  quivers  in  my  heart. 
Then  low'ring  and  pouring, 

The  storm  no  more  I  dread; 
Tho'     thick'ning     and      black'- 
ning 
Round  my  devoted  head. 


II. 


And  thou  grim    Pow'r,  by   Life  ab- 

horr'd 
While  Life  a  pleasure  can  afford, 

O !  hear  a  wretch's  pray'r  ! 
No  more  I  shrink  appall'd,  afraid*, 
I  court,  I  beg  thy  friendly  aid. 
To  close  this  scene  of  care  ! 
When  shall  my  soul,  in  silent  peace. 

Resign  Life's  joyless  day? 
My     weary     heart     its     throbbings 
cease, 
Cold-mould'ring  in  the  clay? 
No  fear  more,  no  tear  more 
To  stain  my  lifeless  face, 
Enclasped  and  grasped 
Within  thy  cold  embrace  ! 


EPISTLE  TO  A   YOUNG   FRIEND. 


47 


EPISTLE  TO  A  YOUNG 
FRIEND. 

May 1786. 

[The  "  young  friend  "  of  this  "  Epistle  " 
was  Andrew  Hunter  Aiken,  son  of  Robert 
Aiken  of  Ayr.] 

I. 

I    LANG    hae   thought,    my   youthfu^ 
friend, 

A  something  to  have  sent  you, 
Tho'  it  should  serve  nae  ither  end 

Than  just  a  kind  memento  : 
]>ut  how  the  subject-theme  may  gang. 

Let  time  and  chance  determine  : 
Perhaps  it  may  turn  out  a  sang ; 

Perhaps,  turn  out  a  sermon. 


II. 

Ye  'll  try  the  world  soon,  my  lad ; 

And.  Andrew  dear,  believe  me, 
Ye  "11  find  mankind  an  unco  squad, 

And  muckle  they  may  grieve  ye  : 
For  care  and  trouble  set  your  thought, 

Ev'n  when  your  end 's  attained  ; 
And    a'    your    views    may   come   to 
nought, 

Where  ev'ry  nerve  is  strained. 


III. 

I  "11  no  say,  men  are  villains  a' : 

The  real,  harden'd  wicked, 
Wha  hae  nae  check  but  human  law. 

Are  to  a  few  restricked ; 
But,  och  !  mankind  are  unco  weak 

An'  little  to  be  trusted ; 
If  Self  the  wavering  balance  shake, 

It  ^s  rarely  right  adjusted  ! 


IV. 

Yet  they  wha  fa'  in  Fortune's  strife. 
Their  fate  we  should  na  censure  ; 

For  still,  th'  important  end  of  life 
They  equally  may  answer : 


A  man  may  hae  an  honest  heart, 
Tho'  poortith  hourly  stare  him  ; 

A  man  may  tak  a  neebor\s  part. 
Yet  hae  nae  cash  to  spare  ium. 

V. 

Ay  free,  aff  han\  your  story  tell. 

When  wi'  a  bosom  cronie ; 
But  still  keep  something  to  yoursel 

Ye  scarcely  tell  to  onie  : 
Conceal  yoursel  as  weel  's  ye  can 

Frae  critical  dissection  : 
But  keek  thro'  ev'ry  other  man 

Wi'  sharpen'd,  sly  inspection. 

VI. 

The  sacred  lowe  o'  weel-plac'd  love. 

Luxuriantly  indulge  it ; 
But  never  tempt  th'  illicit  rove, 

Tho'  naething  should  divulge  it : 
I  waive  the  quantum  o'  the  sin. 

The  hazard  of  concealing ; 
But,  och  !  it  hardens  a'  within, 

And  petrifies  the  feeling  ! 

VII. 

To   catch    Dame    Fortune's    golden 
smile, 

Assiduous  wait  upon  her ; 
And  gather  gear  by  ev'ry  wile 

That 's  justify'd  by  honor  : 
Not  for  to  hide  it  in  a  hedge, 

Nor  for  a  train-attendant ; 
But  for  the  glorious  privilege 

Of  being  independent. 


VIII. 

The  fear  o'  Hell's  a  hangman's  whip 

To  hand  the  wretch  in  order : 
But  where  ye  feel  your  honour  grip. 

Let  that  ay  be  your  border : 
Its  slightest  touches,  instant  pause  — 

Debar  a'  side-pretences  ; 
And  resolutely  keep  its  laws, 

Uncaring  consequences. 


a8 


ON  A  SCOTCH   BARD. 


IX. 

The  great  Creator  to  revere 

Must  sure  become  the  creature ; 
But  still  the  preaching  cant  forbear, 

And  ev'n  the  rigid  feature  : 
Yet  ne^er  with  wits  profane  to  range 

Be  complaisance  extended ; 
An  atheist-laugh  's  a  poor  exchange 

For  Deity  offended  ! 

X. 

When  ranting  round  in  Pleasure's  ring, 

Religion  may  be  blinded  ; 
Or  if  she  gie  a  random  sting, 

It  may  be  little  minded ; 
But  when    on    Life  we  Ve    tempest- 
driven  — 

A  conscience  but  a  canker  — 
A  correspondence  fix'd  wi'  Heav'n 

Is  sure  a  noble  anchor  ! 

XI. 

Adieu,  dear,  amiable  youth  ! 

Your  heart  can  ne''er  be  wanting  ! 
May  prudence,  fortitude,  and  truth, 

Erect  your  brow  undaunting  ! 
In  ploughman  phrase, '  God  send  you 
speed,' 

Still  daily  to  grow  wiser ; 
And  may  ye  better  reck  the  rede, 

Than  ever  did  th'  adviser  ! 


ON  A   SCOTCH    BARD. 

GONE   TO    THE   WEST   INDIES. 

[Probably  among  the  the  latest  poems 
written  for  the  Kilmarnock  edition.  While 
it  was  in  progress  Burns  was  maturing  his 
plans  for  emigration.] 


A'  YE  wha  live  by  sowps  o'  drink, 
A'  ye  wha  live  by  crambo-clink, 
A'  ye  wha  live  and  never  think, 

Come,  mourn  wi'  me  ! 
Our  billie's  gien  us  a'  a  jink. 

An'  owre  the  sea  ! 


II. 

Lament  him  a'  ye  rantin  core, 
Wha  dearly  like  a  random-splore ; 
Nae  mair  he  '11  join  the  merry  roar 

In  social  key ; 
For  now  he 's  taen  anither  shore, 

An'  owre  the  sea  I 

III. 

The  bonie  lasses  weel  may  wiss  him, 
And  in  their  dear  petitions  place  him  : 
The  widows,  wives,  an'  a'  may  l-'less 
him 

Wi'  tearfu'  e'e, 
For  weel  I  vvat  they  '11  sairly  miss  him 
That's  owre  the  sea! 


IV. 

O  Fortune,  they  hae  room  to  grumble ! 
Hadst   thou   taen   aff   some   drowsy 

bummle, 
Wha  can    do   nought   but   fyke   an' 
fumble, 

'T  wad  been  nae  plea ; 
But  he  was  gleg  as  onie  wumble. 
That's  owre  the  sea! 


V. 

Auld,  cantie  Kyle  may  weepers  wear, 
An'  stain  them  wi'  the  saut,  saut  tear : 
'T  will  mak  her  poor  auld  heart,  I  fear, 

In  flinders  flee  : 
He  was  her  Laureat  monie  a  year, 

That's  owre  the  sea! 

VI. 

He  saw  Misfortune's  cauld  nor-west 
Lang-mustering  up  a  bitter  blast " 
A  jillet  brak  his  heart  at  last, 

111  may  she  be! 
So,  took  a  birth  afore  the  mast, 

An'  owre  the  sea. 

VII. 

To  tremble    under    Fortune's    cum- 

mock. 
On  scarce  a  bellyfu'  o'  drummock, 


A   DEDICATION. 


49 


Wi'  his  proud,  independent  stomach, 

Could  ill  agree ; 
So,  row't  his  hurdies  in  a  hammock. 

An'  owre  the  sea. 


VIII. 


He  ne'er  was  gien  to  great  misguiding, 
Yet  coin  his  pouches  wad  na  bide  in  ; 


Wi'  him  it  ne'er  was  under  hiding. 


He  dealt  it  free  : 
The     Muse    was    a'    that    he 
pride  in, 

That 's  owre  the  sea- 


took 


IX. 

Jamaica  bodies,  use  him  weel, 
An*  hap  him  in  a  cozie  biel : 
Ye  "11  find  him  ay  a  dainty  chiel. 

An'  fou  o'  glee  : 
He  wad  na  wrang'd  the  vera  Deil, 

That 's  owre  the  sea. 

X. 

Fareweel,  my  rhyme-composing  billie! 
Your  native  soil  was  right  ill-willie  ; 
But  may  ye  flourish  like  a  lily, 

Now  bonilie ! 
I  11  toast  you  in  my  hindmost  gillie, 

Tho'  owre  the  sea! 


A   DEDICATION^ 

TO   GAVIN   HAMILTON,   ESQ. 

[This  Dedication  did  not  open  the  vol- 
ume published  at  Kilmarnock,  as  might 
have  been  expected,  but  found  a  place  in 
the  body  of  the  work.] 

Expect  na,  Sir,  in  this  narration, 
A  fleechin,  fleth'rin  Dedication, 
To  roose  you  up,  an'  ca'  you  guid, 
An'  spnmg  o'  great  an'  noble  bluid. 
Because    ye  're    surnam'd    like     His 

Grace, 
Perhaps  related  to  the  race  : 
Then,  when  I  'm  tired  —  and  saeare  ye, 
Wi'  monie  a  fulsome,  sinfu'  lie  — 


Set  up  a  face  how  I  stop  short, 
For  fear  your  modesty  be  hurt. 

This  may  do  —  maun  do.  Sir,  wi' 

them  wha 
Maun    please    the    great-folk    for    a 

wamefou' ; 
For  me!  sae  laigh  I  need  na  bow, 
For,  Lord  be  thankit,  I  can  plough  ; 
And  when  I  downa  yoke  a  naig. 
Then,  Lord  be  thankit,  I  can  beg ; 
Sae  I  shall  say,  an'  that 's  nae  flatt'rin, 
It 's  just  sic  poet  an'  sic  patron. 

The   Poet,  some  guid  angel   help 
him. 
Or  else,  I  fear,  some  ill  ane  skelp  him ! 
He  inay  do  weel  for  a'  he  's  done  yet. 
But  only  he  's  no  just  begun  yet. 

The    Patron  (sir,  ye  maun  forgie 
me ; 
I  winna  lie,  come  what  will  o'  me), 
On  ev'ry  hand  it  will  allowed  be, 
He 's  just  —  nae  better  than  he  should 
be. 

I  readily  and  freely  grant. 
He  downa  see  a  poor  man  want ; 
What 's  no  his  ain  he  winna  tak  it ; 
What  ance  he  says,  he  winna  break  it ; 
Ought  he  can  lend  he  '11  no  refus  't, 
Till  aft  his  guidness  is  abus'd ; 
And  rascals  whyles  that  do  him  wrang, 
Ev'n  that,  he  does  na  mind  it  lang ; 
As  master,  landlord,  husband,  father, 
He  does  na  fail  his  part  in  either. 

But  then,  nae  thanks  to  him  foi  a 

that ; 
Nae  godly  symptom  ye  can  ca'  that ; 
It 's  naething  but  a  milder  feature 
Of  our  poor,  sinfu',  corrupt  nature  : 
Ye  '11  get  the  best  o'  moral  works, 
'Mang    black    Gentoos,    and    pagar 

Turks, 
Or  hunters  wild  on  Ponotaxi, 
Wha  never  heard  of  orthodoxy. 


5° 


A   DEDICATION. 


That  he's  the  poor  man's  friend  in 

need, 
The  gentleman  in  word  and  deed, 
It  's  no  thro'  terror  of  damnation : 
It  's  just  a  carnal  inclination. 
And  och!  that  's  nae  regeneration. 

Morality,  thou  deadly  bane. 
Thy    tens    o'   thousands    thou    hast 

slain ! 
Vain  is  his  hope,  whase  stay  an'  trust 

is 
In  moral  mercy,  truth,  and  justice  ! 

No  —  stretch   a  point   to   catch    a 

plack ; 
Abuse  a  brother  to  his  back ; 
Steal  thro'  the  winnock  frae  a  whore. 
But  point  the  rake  that  taks  the  door ; 
Be  to  the  poor  like  onie  wliunstane, 
And  hand  their  noses  to  the  grun- 

stane  ; 
Ply  ev'ry  art  o'  legal  thieving  ; 
No  matter  —  stick  to  sound  believing. 

Learn   three-mile   pray'rs  an'  half- 
mile  graces, 
Wi'  weel-spread  looves,  an'  lang,  wry 

faces  ; 
Grunt  up  a  solemn,  lengthen'd  groan, 
And  damn  a'  parties  but  your  own ; 
I  '11  warrant  then,  ye  're  nae  deceiver, 
A  steady,  sturdy,  staunch  believer. 

O  ye  wha  leave  the  springs  o'  Cal- 
vin, 

For  gumlie  dubs  of  your  ain  delvin ! 

Ye  sons  of  Heresy  and  Error, 

Ye  '11  some  day  squeel  in  quaking 
terror. 

When  vengeance  draws  the  sword  in 
wrath. 

And  in  the  fire  throws  the  sheath  ; 

When  Ruin,  with  his  sweeping 
besom, 

Just  frets  till  Heav'n  commission 
gies  him  ; 

While  o'er  the  harp  pale  Misery 
moans. 

And  strikes  the  ever-deep'ning  tones, 


Still    louder     shrieks,    and     heaviei 
groans ! 

Your  pardon,  sir,  for  this    digres- 
sion : 
I  maist  forgat  my  Dedication  ; 
But  when  divinity  comes  'cross  me. 
My  readers  still  are  sure  to  lose  me. 

So,    Sir,    you    see   'twas    nae   daft 
vapour ; 
But  I  maturely  thought  it  proper, 
When  a'  my  works  I  did  review, 
To  dedicate  them,  Sir,  to  you : 
Because  (ye  need  na  tak"  it  ill), 
I  thought  them  something  like  your- 
sel. 

Then    patronize    them    wi'     your 

favor, 
And  your  petitioner  shall  ever — 
I  had  amaist  said,  ever  pray. 
But  that  's  a  word  I  need  na  say ; 
For  prayin,  I  hae  little  skill  o  't 
I  'm  baith  dead-sw'eer,  an'  wretched 

ill  o  't ; 
But   I   'se   repeat    each   poor   man's 

pray'r. 
That  kens  or  hears  about  you.  Sir :  — 

'May   ne'er   Misfortune's   gowling 

bark 
Howl  thro'  the  dwelHng  o'  the  clerk  ! 
May  ne'er  his  gen'rous,  honest  heart, 
For  that  same  gen'rous  spirit  smart ! 
May  Kennedy's  far-honor'd  name 
Lang  beet  his  hymeneal  flame, 
Till  Hamiltons,  at  least  a  dizzen, 
Are  frae  their  nuptial  labors  risen  : 
Five  bonie  lasses  round  their  table, 
And   sev'n    braw    fellows,  stout   an' 

able. 
To  serve  their  king  an'  country  weel, 
By  word,  or  pen,  or  pointed  steel ! 
May  Health  and  Peace,  with  mutual 

rays. 
Shine  on  the  ev'ning  o'  his  days ; 
Till  his  wee,  curlie  John's  ier-oe. 
When  ebbing  life  nae  mair  shall  flow, 
The  last,  sad,  mournful  rites  bestow! ' 


TO   A   LOUSh. 


51 


I  will  not  wind  a  lang  conclusion, 
With  complimentary  eiTusion ; 
But,  whilst  your  wishes  and  endeav- 
ours 
Are  blest  with  Fortune's  smiles  and 

favours, 
I  am,  dear  sir,  with  zeal  most  fervent, 
Your  much  indebted,  humble  servant. 

But   if   (which  Powers  above  pre- 
vent) 
That  iron- hearted  carl.  Want, 
Attended,  in  his  grim  advances, 
By    sad    mistakes,   and    black   mis- 
chances. 
While  hopes,  and  joys,  and  pleasures 

fly  him. 
Make  you  as  poor  a  dog  as  I  am. 
Your    '  humble    servant '     then     no 

more ; 
For  who   would   humbly   serve    the 

poor? 
But,  by  a  poor  man's  hopes  inHeav'n! 
While  recollection's  pow'r  is  giv'n, 
If,  in  the  vale  of  humble  life. 
The  victim  sad  of  Fortune's  strife, 
I,  thro'  the  tender-gushing  tear. 
Should  recognise  my  master  dear ; 
If  friendless,  low,  we  meet  together. 
Then,  sir,  your  hand  —  my  Friend 
and  Brother! 


TO  A  LOUSE. 

ON  SEEING  ONE  ON  A  LADY'S 
BONNET  AT  CHURCH. 

["The  success  of  the  last  verse  redeems 
a  rather  painful  performance.  The  insect 
was  not  treasured  as  a  relic,  like  the  '  flea 
that  loupit  on  Prince  Charlie.'  "  —  ANDREW 
Lang.] 


Ha!  whare  ye  gaun,  ye  crow^in  fer- 

he? 
Your  impudence  protects  you  sairly, 
I  canna  say  but  ye  strunt  rarely 
Owre  gauze  and  lace, 


Tho'  faith !  I  fear  ye  dine  but  sparely 
On  sic  a  place. 

II. 

Ye  ugly,  creepin,  blastit  wonner, 
Detested,     shunn'd     by     saunt     an' 

sinner. 
How  daur  ye  set  your  fit  upon  her  — 

Sae  fine  a  lady  ! 
Gae  somewhere  else  and  seek  your 
dinner 

On  some  poor  body. 

III. 

Swith  !     in     some    beggar's    hauffet 

squattle : 
There  ye  may  creep,  and  sprawl,  and 

sprattle, 
Wi'  ither  kindred,  jumping  cattle. 
In  shoals  and  nations  ; 
Whare  horn  nor  bane  ne'er  daur  un- 
settle 

Your  thick  plantations. 

Now  haud  you  there  !    ye  're  out  o' 

sight. 
Below  the  fatt'rils,  snug  an'  tight ; 
Na,  faith  ye  yet !  ye  '11  no  be  right. 

Till  ye  've  got  on  it  — 
The  vera  tapmost,  towering  height 

O'  Miss's  bonnet. 


My  sooth  !  right  bauld   ye  set   your 

nose  out. 
As  plump  an'  grey  as  onie  grozet : 

0  for  some  rank,  mercurial  rozet. 

Or  fell,  red  smeddum, 

1  'd  gie  ye  sic  a  hearty  dose  o  't. 

Wad  dress  yourdroddum. 

VI. 

I  wad  na  been  surprised  to  spy 
You  on  an  auld  wife's  flainen  toy ; 
Or  aiblins  some  bit  duddie  boy, 
On 's  wyliecoat ; 


52 


EPISTLE  TO  J.   LAPRAIK. 


But  Miss's  fine  Lunardi !  fye  ! 
How  daur  ye  do  't? 

VII. 

O  Jenny,  dinna  toss  your  head, 
An'  set  your  beauties  a'  abread  ! 
Ye  little  ken  what  cursed  speed 

The  bias  tie 's  makin  ! 
Thae  winks  an'  finger-ends,  I  dread, 

Are  notice  takin  ! 

VIII. 

O  wad  some  Power  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  see  oursels  as  ithers  see  us  ! 
It  wad  frae  monie  a  blunder  free  us, 

An'  foolish  notion : 
What  airs  in  dress  an'  gait  wad  lea'e 


us. 


An'  ev'n  devotion  ! 


EPISTLE   TO   J.   LAPRAIK. 

AN    OLD    SCOTTISH     BARD,   APRIL     I, 
1785.. 

["  The  song,  admired  by  Burns,  was  pil- 
fered by  Lapraik  from  (or  contributed  by 
him  to)  '  The  Weekly  Magazine,'  October 
14,  1773  (Chambers).  The  poem  here  is 
Burns's  '  Ars  Poetica  ' :  possibly  his  rhymes 
had  been  censured  by  some  collegian. 
Otherwise  it  is  not  easy  to  account  for  his 
attack  on  Greek,  a  language  of  which  he 
had  no  more  than  Scott,  and  perhaps  less 
than  Shakespeare.  Lapraik  published  his 
verses  in  1788 ;  they  are  collected  by  Burns- 
ians."  — Andrew  Lang.] 


While  briers  an'  woodbines  budding 

green. 
And  paitricks  scraichin  loud  at  e'en. 
An'  morning  poussie  whiddin  seen, 

Inspire  my  Muse, 
This  freedom,  in  an  unknown  frien' 

I  pray  excuse. 

II. 

On  Fasten-e'en  we  had  a  rockin. 
To    ca'   the    crack    and   weave    our 
stockin ; 


And  there  was  muckle  fun  and  jokin, 

Ye  need  na  doubt ; 
At  length  we  had  a  hearty  yokin, 


At 


sang  about.' 


III. 


There  was  ae  sang,  amang  the  rest, 
Aboon  them  a'  it  pleas'd  me  best. 
That  some  kind  husband  had  addrest 

To  some  sweet  wife  : 
It  thirl'd  the  heart-strings  thro'  the 
breast, 

A'  to  the  life. 

IV. 

I  Ve  scarce  heard  ought  describ'd  sae 

weel. 
What  gen'rous,  manly  bosoms  feel ; 
Thought   I,  'Can    this    be   Pope   or 
Steele, 

Or  Beattie's  wark  ?  " 
They  tald  me  'twas  an  odd  kind  chiel 
About  Muirkirk. 

V. 

It  pat  me  fidgin-fain  to  hear't, 
An'  sae  about  him  there  I  spier 't ; 
Then  a'  that  kent  him  round  declar'd 

He  had  ingine ; 
That  nane  excell'd  it,  few  cam  near't, 

It  was  sae  fine  : 

VI. 

That,  set  him  to  a  pint  of  ale, 
An'  either  douce  or  merry  tale. 
Or  rhymes  an'  sangs  he  'd  made  him- 
sel, 

Or  witty  catches, 
'Tween  Inverness  an'  Teviotdale, 

He  had  few  matches. 

VII. 

Then  up  I  gat,  an'  swoor  an  aith, 
Tho'  I  should  pawn  my  pleugh   an' 

graith. 
Or  die  a  cadger  pownie's  death. 

At  some  dyke-back, 
A  pint  an'  gill  I  'd  gie  them  baith, 

To  hear  your  crack. 


EPISTLE  TO  J.    LAPRAIK. 


53 


VIII. 

But,  first  an'  foremost,  I  should  tell, 
Amaist  as  soon  as  I  could  spell, 
I  to  the  crambo-jingle  fell ; 

Tho'  rude  an'  rough  — 
Yet  crooning  to  a  body's  sel, 

Does  weel  eneugh. 

IX. 

I  am  nae  poet,  in  a  sense ; 

But  just  a  rhymer  like  by  chance. 

An'  hae  to  learning  nae  pretence ; 

Yet  what  the  matter? 
Whene'er    my    Muse    does    on    me 
glance, 

I  jingle  at  her. 


X. 

Your  critic-folk  may  cock  their  nose. 
And  say,  '  How  can  you  e'er  propose. 
You  wha  ken  hardly  verse  frae  prose, 

To  mak  a  sang  ? ' 
But,  by  your  leaves,  my  learned  foes, 

Ye  're  maybe  wrang. 

XI. 

What 's     a'     your    jargon     o'    your 

Schools, 
Your    Latin    names    for    horns    an' 

stools? 
If  honest  Nature  made  you  fools, 

What  sairs  your  grammers  ? 
Ye  'd    better    taen    up    spades    and 
shools, 

Or  knappin-hammers. 

XII. 

A  set  o'  dull,  conceited  hashes 
Confuse  their  brains  in  college-classes, 
They  gang  in  stirks,  and   come  out 
asses, 

Plain  truth  to  speak ; 
An'  syne   they  think   to  climb   Par- 
nassus 

By  dint  o'  Greek! 


XIII. 

Gie  mc  ac  spark  o'  Nature's  fire,  ' 
That 's  a'  the  learning  I  desire  ; 
Then,  tho'   I    drudge   thro'  dub  an' 
mire 

At  pleugh  or  cart. 
My  Muse,  tho'  hamely  in  attire. 

May  touch  the  heart. 

XIV. 

0  for  a  spunk  o'  Allan's  glee. 

Or  Fergusson's,  the  bauld  an'  slee. 
Or  bright  Lapraik's,  my  friend  to  be, 

If  I  can  hit  it ! 
That  would  be  lear  eneugh  for  me, 

If  I  could  get  it. 

XV. 

Now,  sir,  if  ye  hae  friends  enow, 
Tho'  real  friends  I  b'lieve  are  few ; 
Yet,  if  your  catalogue  be  fow, 

I  'se  no  insist : 
But,  gif  ye  want  ae  friend  that 's  true, 

I  'm  on  your  list. 

XVI. 

1  winna  blaw  about  mysel. 
As  ill  I  like  my  fauts  to  tell ; 

But  friends,  an'  folks  that  wish  me 
well. 

They  sometimes  roose  me ; 
Tho',  I  maun  own,  as  monie  still 

As  far  abuse  me. 

XVII. 

There  's  ae  wee  faut  they  whyles  lay 

to  me, 
I  like  the  lasses  —  Gude  forgie  me  ! 
For  monie  a  plack  they  wheedle  frae 
me 

At  dance  or  fair ; 
Maybe  some  ither  thing  they  gie  me. 
They  weel  can  spare. 

XVIII. 

But  Mauchline  Race  or  Mauchline 
Fair, 


54 


SECOND   EPISTLE  TO   J.   LAPRAIK. 


I  should  be  proud  to  meet  you  there  : 
We  'se  gie   ae    night's    discharge   to 
care, 

If  we  forgather ; 
And  hae  a  swap  o'  rhymin-ware 

Wi'  ane  anither. 


XIX. 

The   four-gill    chap,  we'se  gar   him 

clatter, 
An'  kirsen  him  wi'  reekin  water ; 
Syne  we  '11  sit  down  an'  tak  out  whitter, 

To  cheer  our  heart ; 
An'  faith,  we  'se  be  acquainted  better 

Before  we  part. 


XX. 

Awa  ye  selfish,  warly  race, 

Wha  think   that   havins,   sense,   an' 

grace, 
Ev'n  love  an'  friendship  should  give 
place 

To  Catch-the-Plack ! 
I  dinna  like  to  see  your  face. 

Nor  hear  your  crack. 


XXI. 

But  ye  whom  social  pleasure  charms, 
Whose  hearts   the   tide  of  kindness 

warms, 
Who  hold  your  being  on  the  terms, 

'  Each  aid  the  others,' 
Come  to  my  bowl,  come  to  my  arms. 

My  friends,  my  brothers  ! 


XXII. 

But,  to  conclude  my  lang  epistle, 

As  my  auld  pen  's  worn  to  the  grissle, 

Twa  lines  frae  you  wad  gar  me  fissle. 

Who  am  most  fervent, 
While  I  can  either  sing  or  whistle. 

Your  friend  and  servant. 


SECOND    EPISTLE    TO    J.    LA- 
PRAIK. 

APRIL   21,    1785. 

[Entered  in  the  "  First  Common-Place 
Book "  under  "  The  First  Epistle,"  with 
this  explanation :  "  On  receiving  an  answer 
to  the  above,  Burns  wrote  the  follow- 
ing:—"] 


While   new-ca'd   kye   rowte   at  the 

stake 
An'  pownies  reek  in  pleugh  or  braik, 
This  hour  on  e'enin's  edge  I  take, 

To  own  I  'm  debtor 
To  honest-hearted,  auld  Lapraik, 

For  his  kind  letter. 


II. 

Forjesket  sair,  with  weary  legs, 
Rattlin  the  corn  out-owre  the  rigs. 
Or  dealing  thro'  amang  the  naigs 

Their  ten-hours'  bite. 
My  awkart  Muse  sair  pleads  and  begs, 

I  would  na  write. 


III. 

The  tapetless,  ramfeezl'd  hizzie. 
She 's    saft    at   best,   an'   something 

lazy : 
Quo'  she :   '  Ye  ken  we  've  been  sae 
busy 

This  month  an'  mair. 
That  trowth,  my  head  is  grown  right 
dizzie, 

An'  something  sair.' 


IV. 

Her  dowff  excuses  pat  me  mad  : 

'  Conscience,'  says  I, '  ye  thowless  jad  I 

I  '11  write,  an'  that  a  hearty  blaud, 

This  vera  night ; 
So  dinna  ye  affront  your  trade, 

But  rhyme  it  right. 


SECOND   EPISTLE  TO  J.   I.APRAIK. 


55 


'  Shall    bauld    Lapraik,    the   king   o' 

hearts, 
Tho'  mankind  were  a  pack  o'  cartes, 
Roose  you  sae  weel  for  your  deserts, 

In  terms  sae  friendly  ; 
Yet  ye  '11  neglect  to  shaw  your  parts 

An'  thank  him  kindly?' 

VI. 

Sae  I  gat  paper  in  a  blink. 

An'  down  gaed  stumpie  in  the  ink :  • 

Quoth  I  :  •  Before  I  sleep  a  wink, 

I  vow  I  '11  close  it : 
An'  if  ye  winna  mak  it  clink. 

By  Jove,  I  '11  prose  it ! ' 

VII. 

Sae  I  've  begun  to  scrawl,  but  whether 
In  rhyme,  or  prose,  or  baith  thegither, 
Or  some    hotch-potch  that's  rightly 
neither, 

Let  time  mak  proof; 
But  I  shall  scribble  down  some  blether 

Just  clean  afif-loof. 

VIII. 

My  worthy  friend,  ne'er  grudge   an' 

carp, 
Tho'  Fortune  use  you  hard  an'  sharp  ; 
Come,  kittle  up  your  moorland  harp 

Wi'  gleesome  touch ! 
Ne'er   mind   how   Fortune   waft   an' 
warp ; 

She 's  but  a  bitch. 

IX. 

She 's  gien  me  monie  a  jirt  an'  fleg, 
Sin'  I  could  striddle  owre  a  rig ; 
But,  by  the  Lord,  tho'  I  should  beg 

Wi'  lyart  pow, 
I  "11  laugh  an'  sing,  an'  shake  my  leg, 

As  lang  's  I  dow  ! 

X. 

Now  comes  the  sax-an-twentieth  sim- 
mer 


I  've  seen  the  bud  upo'  the  timmer, 
Still  persecuted  by  the  limmer 

Frae  year  to  year ; 
But  yet,  despite  the  kittle  kimmer, 

I,  Rob,  am  here. 

XI. 

Do  ye  envy  the  city  gent, 

Behint  a  kist  to  lie  an'  sklent ; 

Or  purse-proud,  big  wi'  cent,  per  cent. 

An'  muckle  wame, 
In  some  bit  brugh  to  represent 

A  bailie's  name  ? 

XII. 

Or  is 't  the  paughty  feudal  thane, 
Wi'  ruffl'd  sark  an'  glancing  cane, 
Wha  thinks  himsel  nae  sheep-shank 
bane. 

But  lordly  stalks ; 
While  caps  an'  bonnets  aff  are  taen. 
As  by  he  walks  ? 

XIII. 

'  O  Thou  wlia  gies  us  each  guid  gift! 

Gie  me  o'  wit  an'  sense  a  lift. 

Then  turn  me,  if  Thou  please,  adrift 

Thro'  Scotland  wide ; 
Wi'  cits  nor  lairds  I  wadna  shift, 

In  a'  their  pride! ' 

XIV. 

Were  this  the  charter  of  our  state, 
'  On  pain  o'  hell  be  rich  an'  great,' 
Damnation  then  would  be  our  fate. 

Beyond  remead ; 
But,  thanks  to  heaven,  that  "s  no  the 
gate 

We  learn  our  creed. 

XV. 

For  thus  the  royal  mandate  ran. 
When  first  the  human  race  began : 
'  The  social,  friendly,  honest  man. 

Whatever  he  be, 
'T  is  he  fulfils  great  Nature's  plan, 

And  none  but  he.' 


56 


TO   WILLIAM   SIMPSON   OF   OCHILTREE. 


XVI. 

O  mandate  glorious  and  divine! 
The  followers  o''  the  ragged  Nine  — 
Poor,  thoughtless    devils!  —  yet  may 
shine 

In  glorious  light ; 
While  sordid  sons  o'  Mammon's  line 

Are  dark  as  night! 


XVII. 

Tho'  here   they  scrape,  an'  squeeze, 

an'  growl. 
Their  worthless  neivefu'  of  a  soul 
May  in  some  future  carcase  howl, 

The  forest's  fright ; 
Or  in  some  day-detesting  owl 

May  shun  the  light. 


XVIII. 

Then  may  Lapraik  and  Burns  arise, 
To  reach  their  native,  kindred  skies. 
And  sing  their   pleasures,  hopes  an' 
joys. 

In  some  mild  sphere  ; 
Still  closer  knit  in  friendship's  ties. 

Each  passing  year! 


TO     WILLIAM      SIMPSON     OF 
OCHILTREE. 

MAY    1785. 

[William  Simpson  was  the  schoolmaster 
of  Ochiltree.  He  was  born  Aug.  23,  1758; 
died  July  4,  1815.] 


I  GAT  your  letter,  winsome  Willie  ; 
Wi'    gratefu'     heart     I     thank    you 

brawlie ; 
Tho'  I  maun  say 't,  I  wad  be  silly 

And  unco  vain. 
Should  I  believe,  my  coaxin  billie. 

Your  flatterin  strain. 


II. 

But  I 's  believe  ye  kindly  meant  it : 
I  sud  be  laith  to  think  ye  hinted 
Ironic  satire,  sidelins  sklented. 

On  my  poor  Musie ; 
Tho'    in    sic    phraisin    terms    ye've 
penn'd  it, 

I  scarce  excuse  ye. 

III. 

My  senses  wad  be  in  a  creel. 
Should  I  but  dare  a  hope  to  speel, 
Wi'  Allan,  or  wi'  Gilbertfield, 

The  braes  o'  fame  ; 
Or  Fergusson,  the  writer-chiel, 

A  deathless  name. 


IV. 

(O  Fergusson !  thy  glorious  parts 

111  suited  law's  dry,  musty  arts ! 

My  curse  upon  your  whunstane  hearts, 

Ye  E'nbrugh  gentry! 
The  tythe  o'  what  ye  waste  at  cartes 

Wad  stow'd  his  pantry!) 

V. 

Yet  when  a  tale  comes  i'  my  head. 

Or  lasses  gie  my  heart  a  screed  — 
As  whyles  they  're  like  to  be  my  dead, 

(O  sad  disease!) 
I  kittle  up  my  rustic  reed ; 

It  gies  me  ease. 

VI. 

Auld  Coila,  now,  may  fidge  fu'  fain. 
She 's  gotten  bardies  o'  her  ain  ; 
Chiels  wha  their  chanters  winna  hain. 

But  tune  their  lays. 
Till  echoes  a'  resound  again 

Her  weel-sung  praise. 

VII. 

Nae  Poet  thought  her  worth  his  while, 
To  set  her  name  in  measured  style  ; 
She  lay  like  some  unkend-of  isle 
Beside  New  Holland, 


TO  WILLIAM   SIMPSOxN   OF  OCHILTREE. 


57 


Or  whare  wild-meeting  oceans  boil 
Besouth  Magellan. 

VIII. 

Ramsay  an'  famous  Fergusson 
Gied  Forth  an'  Tay  a  lift  aboon ; 
Yarrow  an'  Tweed,  to  monie  a  tune, 

Owre  Scotland  rings ; 
While  Irwin,  Lugar,  Ayr,  an'  Doon 

Naebody  sings. 

IX. 

Th'  missus,  Tiber,  Thames,  an'  Seine, 
Glide  sweet  in  monie  a  tunefu'  line : 
But,  Willie,  set  your  fit  to  mine, 
An'  cock  your  crest ! 
We  '11  gar  our  streams  and  burnies 


shine 


Up  wi'  the  best. 


X. 


We  '11  sing  auld  Coila's  plains  an'  fells. 
Her    moors    red-brown   wi'   heather 

bells. 
Her  banks  an'  braes,   her  dens  an' 
dells, 

Whare  glorious  Wallace 
Aft  bure  the  gree,  as  story  tells, 
Frae  Suthron  billies. 

XI. 

At    Wallace'    name,    what    Scottish 

blood 
But  boils  up  in  a  spring-tide  flood  ? 
Oft  have  our  fearless  fathers  strode 

By  Wallace'  side. 
Still  pressing  onward,  red-wat-shod, 

Or  glorious  dy'd  ! 

XII. 

O,  sweet  are  Coila's  haughs  an'  woods, 
When   lintwhites   chant   amang   the 

buds. 
And  jinkin  hares,  in  amorous  whids, 

Their  loves  enjoy ; 
Wliile    thro'   the    braes    the    cushat 
croods 

With  wailfu'  cry  ! 


XIII. 

Ev'n  winter  bleak  has  charms  to  me. 
When   winds   rave   thro'  the   naked 

tree ; 
Or  frosts  on  hills  of  Ochiltree 

Are  hoary  gray ; 
Or  blinding  drifts  wild-furious  flee, 

Dark'ning  the  day ! 

XIV. 

O  Nature  !  a'  thy  shews  an'  forms 
To  feeling,  pensive  hearts  hae  charms! 
Whether  the  summer  kindly  warms, 

Wi'  life  an'  light ; 
Or  winter  howls,  in  gusty  storms, 

The  iang,  dark  night ! 

XV. 

The  Muse,  nae  poet  ever  fand  her, 
Till  by  himsel  he  learn'd  to  wander, 
Adown  some  trottin  burn's  meander, 

An'  no  think  Iang : 
O,  sweet  to  stray,  an'  pensive  ponder 

A  heart-felt  sang  ! 

XVI. 

The  warly  race  may  drudge  an'  drive. 
Hog-shouther,    jundie,    stretch,     an' 

strive : 
Let  me  fair  Nature's  face  descrive, 

And  I,  wi'  pleasure. 
Shall  let  the  busy,  grumbling  hive 

Bum  owre  their  treasure. 

XVII. 

Fareweel,       my       rhyme-composing 

brither ! 
We  've  been  owre  Iang  unkend  to  ither : 
Now  let  us  lay  our  heads  thegither, 

In  love  fraternal : 
May  Envy  wallop  in  a  tether, 

Black  fiend,  infernal ! 

XVIII. 

While   Highlandmen   hate    tolls  an' 

taxes ; 
While    moorlan'  herds  like  guid,  fat 

braxies ; 


58 


TO   WILLIAM   SIMPSON   OF  OCHILTREE. 


While  Terra  Firma,  on  her  axis, 

Diurnal  turns  ; 
Count  on  a  friend,  in  faith  an'  practice, 

In  Robert  Burns. 


Postscript. 


XIX. 


My  memory 's  no  worth  a  preen  : 

I  had  amaist  forgotten  clean, 

Ye  bade  me  write  you  what  they  mean 

By  this  New-Light, 
'Bout  which  our  herds  sae  aft  hae  been 


Maist  like  to  fight. 


XX. 


In  days  when  mankind  were  but  cal- 

lans  ; 
At  grammar,  logic,  an'  sic  talents, 
They  took  nae  pains  their  speech  to 
balance, 

Or  rules  to  gie  ; 
But  spak  their  thoughts  in  plain,  braid 
Lallans, 

Like  you  or  me. 

XXI. 

In  thae  auld  times,  they  thought  the 

moon, 
Just  like  a  sark,  or  pair  o'  shoon. 
Wore  by  degrees,  till -her  last  roon 

Gaed  past  their  viewin  ; 
An'  shortly  after  she  was  done, 

They  gat  a  new  ane. 

XXII. 

This  past  for  certain,  undisputed  ; 
It  ne'er  cam  i'  their  heads  to  doubt  it, 
Till  chiels  gat  up  an'  wad  confute  it, 

An'  ca'd  it  wrang ; 
An'  muckle  din  there  was  about  it, 

Baith  loud  an'  lang. 

XXIII. 

Some   herds,  weel   learn  d   upo'  the 
Beuk, 


Wad  threap  auld  folk  the  thing  mis- 

teuk ; 
For 't  was  the  auld  moon  turn'd  a  neuk 


An'  out  o'  sight. 


An'  backlins-comin  to  the  leuk, 
She  grew  mair  bright. 


XXIV. 

This  was  deny'd,  it  was  affirm'd  ; 
The  herds  and  hissels  were  alarm'd ; 
The  rev'rend  gray-beards  rav'd    an' 
storm 'd, 

That  beardless  laddies 
Should    think   they   better  were   in- 
form'd 

Than  their  auld  daddies. 


XXV. 

Frae  less  to  mair,  it  gaed  to  sticks ; 
Frae  words  an'  aiths,  to  clours  an' 

nicks ; 
An'  monie  a  fallow  gat  his  licks, 

Wi'  hearty  crunt ; 
An'  some,  to  learn   them   for    their 
tricks. 

Were  hang'd  an'  brunt. 

XXVI. 

This  game  was  play'd  in  monie  lands, 
An'    Auld-Light    caddies     bure     sic 

hands, 
That  faith,  the  youngsters  took  the 
sands 

Wi'  nimble  shanks 
Till   lairds    forbade,   by   strict   com- 
mands. 

Sic  bluidy  pranks. 

XXVII. 

But  New-Light  herds  gat  sic  a  cowe. 
Folk   thought   them   ruin'd   stick-an- 

stowe ; 
Till  now,  amaist  on  ev'ry  knowe 
Ye'll  find  ane  placed  ; 
An'  some,  their  New-Light  fair  avow. 
Just  quite  barefac'd. 


EPISTLE  TO   JOHN    RANKINE. 


59 


XXVIII. 

Nae  doubt  the  Auld-Light  flocks  are 

bleatin ; 
Their  zealous   herds   are  vex'd   and 

sweatin  ; 
Mysel,  I  "ve  even  seen  them  greetin 

\Vr  girnin  spite, 
To  hear  the  moon  sae  sadly  He'd  on 
By  word  an'  write. 

XXIX. 

But  shortly  they  will  cowe  the  louns! 
Some  Auld-Light   herds    in    neebor 

touns 
Are   mind't,    in  things  they  ca'  bal- 
loons, 

To  tak  a  flight. 
An'  stay  ae  month  amang  the  moons 
An'  see  them  right. 


XXX. 

Guid  observation  they  will  gie  them  ; 
An'  when  the  auld  moon  's  gaun  to 

lea'e  them. 
The  hindmost  shaird,  they'll  fetch  it 
wi"  them, 

Just  i'  their  pouch  ; 
An'  when  the  New-Light  billies  see 
them, 

I  think  they'll  crouch! 

XXXI. 

Sae,  ye  observe  that  a'  this  clatter 
Is  naething  but  a  '  moonshine  mat- 
ter': 
But  tho'  dull  prose-folk  Latin  splatter 

In  logic  tulzie, 
I  hope  we,  Bardies,  ken  some  better 

Than  mind  sic  brulzie. 


EPISTLE  TO  JOHN   RANKINE. 

ENCLOSING    SOME    POEMS. 

[Rankine  was  farmer  at  Adamhill,  in  the 
parish  of  Craigie,  near  Lochlie.     His  wit, 


his  dreams,  and  his  practical  jokes  were  the 
talk  of  the  countryside.] 

I. 

O  ROUGH,   rude,    ready-witted   Ran- 
kine, 
The  wale  o'  cocks  for  fun  an"  drinkin'! 
There's  monie  godly  folks  are  thinkin' 

Your  dreams  and  tricks 
Will  send  you,  Korah-like,  a-sinkin 

Straught  to  Auld  Nick's. 


II. 

Ye  hae  sae  monie  cracks  an'  cants. 
And  in  your  wicked  drucken  rants, 
Ye  mak  a  devil  o'  the  saunts. 

An'  fill  them  fou' ; 
And    then    their   failings,   flaws,  an' 
wants 

Are  a'  seen  thro'. 

III. 

Hypocrisy,  in  mercy  spare  it ! 
That  holy  robe,  O,  dinna  tear  it  ! 
Spare 't   for   their   sakes,   wha   aften 
wear  it  — 

The  lads  in  black  ; 
But   your   curst  wit,  when    it  comes 
near  it, 

Rives  *t  afif  their  back. 

rv. 

Think,    wicked    sinner,    wha     ye 're 

skaithing : 
It's  just   the    Blue-gown    badge    an' 

claithing 
O'  saunts ;    tak   that,  ye   lea'e    them 
naething 

To  ken  them  by 
Frae  onie  unregenerate  heathen, 
Like  you  or  I. 

V. 

I've   sent   you   here    some   rhyming 

ware 
A'  that  I  bargain'd  for,  an'  mair ; 
Sae,  when  ye  hae  an  hour  to  spare, 
I  will  expect, 


6o 


SONG. 


Yon  sang  ye  '11  sen't,  wi'  cannie  care, 
And  no  neglect. 

VI. 

Tho'  faith,  sma'  heart  hae  I  to  sing : 
My   Muse   dow   scarcely  spread   her 

wing! 
I  "ve  play'd  mysel  a  bonie  spring, 

An'  danc'd  my  fill! 
I  'd  better  gaen  an'  sair't  the  King 

At  Bunker's  Hill. 

VII. 

'T  was  ae  night  lately,  in  my  fun, 

I  gaed  a  rovin  wi'  the  gun, 

An'  brought  a  paitrick  to  the  gmn'  — 

A  bonie  hen ; 
And,  as  the  twilight  was  begun. 

Thought  nane  wad  ken. 

VIII 

The  poor,  wee  thing  was  Httle  hurt ; 
T  straikit  it  a  wee  for  sport, 
Ne'er    thinkin    they    wad   fash    me 
for 't ; 

But,  Deil-ma-care! 
Somebody  tells  the  Poacher-Court 
The  hale  affair. 


IX. 

Some  auld,  us'd  hands   had   taen   a 

note, 
That  sic  a  hen  had  got  a  shot ; 
I  was  suspected  for  the  plot ; 

I  scorn'd  to  lie  ; 
So  gat  the  whissle  o'  my  groat, 

An'  pay't  the  fee. 


But,  by  my  gun,  o'  guns  the  wale. 
An'  by  my  pouther  an'  my  hail, 
An'  by  my  hen,  an'  by  her  tail, 

I  vow  an'  swear! 
The  game  shall  pay  owre  moor  an' 
dale. 

For  this,  niest  year! 


XI. 

As  soon  's  the  clockin-time  is  by, 
An'  the  wee  pouts  begun  to  cry. 
Lord,  I  'se  hae  sportin  by  an'  by 

For  my  gowd  guinea  ; 
Tho'  I  should  herd  the  buckskin  kye 

For 't,  in  Virginia  ! 

XII. 

Trowth,    they    had    muckle    for    to 

blame  ! 
'T  was  neither  broken  wing  nor  limb, 
But  twa-three  chaps  about  the  wame. 

Scarce  thro'  the  feathers ; 
An'  baith  a  yellow  George  to  claim 

An'  thole  their  blethers  ! 

XIII. 

It  pits  me  ay  as  mad 's  a  hare ; 

So  I  can  rhyme  nor  write  nae  mair; 

But  pennyworths  again  is  fair. 

When  time  's  expedient : 
Meanwhile  I  am,  respected  Sir, 

Your  most  obedient. 


SONG. 


TUNE :   Corn  Rigs. 

[In  his  Autobiographical  Letter  to  Dr. 
Moore,  Burns  includes  this  admirable  lyric 
among  the  "  rhymes"  of  his  "  early  days," 
composed  before  his  twenty-third  year. 
But  the  early  version  was  probably  a  mere 
fragmentary  suggestion  of  the  later.  The 
"  Annie  "  of  this  song  is  unknown.  Several 
"Annies"  claimed  the  distinction,  among 
them  a  Mrs.  Merry.] 


It  was  upon  a  Lammas  night, 

When  corn  rigs  are  bonie, 
Beneath  the  moon's  unclouded  light, 

I  held  awa  to  Annie  ; 
The  time  flew  by,  wi'  tentless  heed  ,• 

Till,  'tween  the  late  and  early, 
Wi'  sma'  persuasion  she  agreed 

To  see  me  thro'  the  barley. 


SONG:  COMPOSED  IN  AUGUST. 


6i 


Corn  rigs,  an'  barley  rigs, 
An'  corn  rigs  are  bonie  : 

I  '11    ne'er   forget    that    happy 
night, 
Amang  the  rigs  wi'  Annie. 


II. 

The  sky  was  blue,  the  wind  was  still, 

The  moon  was  shining  clearly  ; 
I  set  her  down,  wi'  right  good  will, 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley : 
I  ken't  her  heart  was  a'  my  ain ; 

I  lov'd  her  most  sincerely  ; 
I  kiss'd  her  owre  and  owre  again, 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 

III. 

I  lock'd  her  in  my  fond  embrace ; 

Her  heart  was  beating  rarely : 
My  blessings  on  that  happy  place, 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley  ! 
But  by  the  moon  and  stars  so  bright, 

That  shone  that  hour  so  clearly  ! 
She  aye  shall  bless  that  happy  night 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 

IV. 

I  hae  been  blythe  wi'  comrades  dear ; 

I  hae  been  merry  drinking ; 
I  hae  been  joyfu'  gath'rin  gear ; 

I  hae  been  happy  thinking : 
But  a'  the  pleasures  e'er  I  saw, 

Tho'  three  times  doubl'd  fairly  — 
That  happy  night  was  worth  them  a', 
Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 

Corn  rigs,  an'  barley  rigs. 
An'  corn  rigs  are  bonie  : 
1 11   ne'er   forget    that    happy 
night, 
Amang  the  rigs  wi'  Annie. 


SONG 


COMPOSED   IN 
AUGUST. 


[Burns  states,  in  his  "  Autobiographical 
Letter,"  that  this  song  was  the  ebullition  of 
his  passion  for  a  "  charming ^letfe ,"  Peggy 


Thomson,  who  "overset  his  trigonometry' 
at  Kirkoswald  when  he  was  in  his  seven- 
teenth year.] 


Now  westlin  winds  and  slaught'ring 
guns 
Bring  Autumn's  pleasant  weather ; 
The    gorcock    springs    on    whirring 
wings 
Amang  the  blooming  heather : 
Now   waving    grain,    wide    o'er    the 
plain. 
Delights  the  weary  farmer ; 
The  moon  shines  bright,  as  I  rove  by 
night 
To  muse  upon  my  charmer. 


II. 

The  paitrick  lo'es  the  fruitfu'  fells, 

The  plover  lo'es  the  mountains  ; 
The  woodcock  haunts  the  lonely  dells, 

The  soaring  hern  the  fountains ; 
Thro'  lofty  groves  the  cushat  roves. 

The  path  o'  man  to  shun  it ; 
The  hazel  bush  o'erhangs  the  thrush, 

The  spreading  thorn  the  linnet. 

III. 

Thus  ev'ry  kind  their  pleasure  find, 

The  savage  and  the  tender ; 
Some  social  join,  and  leagues  com- 
bine, 

Some  solitary  wander : 
Avaunt,  away,  the  cruel  sway  ! 

Tyrannic  man's  dominion! 
The   sportsman's  joy,  the  murd'ring 
cry, 

The  flutt'ring,  gory  pinion! 


IV. 

But,  Peggy  dear,  the  evening's  clear, 
Thick  flies  the  skimming  swallow, 

The  sky  is  blue,  the  fields  in  view 
All  fading-green  and  yellow  : 

Come  let  us  stray  our  gladsome  way, 
And  view  the  charms  of  nature  ; 


62 


THE   FAREWELL. 


The  rustling  corn,  the  fruited  thorn, 
And  ilka  happy  creature. 


We  '11  gently  walk,  and  sweetly  talk, 

While     the     silent     moon    shines 
clearly ; 
I  '11  clasp  thy  waist,  and,  fondly  prest, 

Swear  how  I  lo'e  thee  dearly : 
Not  vernal  show'rs  to  budding  flow'rs, 

Not  Autumn  to  the  farmer, 
So  dear  can  be  as  thou  to  me. 

My  fair,  my  lovely  charmer! 


SONG:  FROM  THEE  ELIZA. 

Tune:  Gilderoy, 

["  Eliza  "  was  Elizabeth  Miller,  afterwards 
Mrs.  Templeton,  celebrated  in  "  The  Mauch- 
line  Belles"  as  the  "  Miss  Betty"  "  who's 
braw,"] 


From  thee  Eliza,  I  must  go, 

And  from  my  native  shore : 
The  cruel  fates  between  us  throw 

A  boundless  ocean's  roar,; 
But  boundless  oceans,  roaring  wide 

Between  my  Love  and  me. 
They  never,  never  can  divide 

My  heart  and  soul  from  thee. 


II. 

Farewell,  farewell,  Eliza  dear. 

The  maid  that  I  adore  ! 
A  boding  voice  is  in  mine  ear, 

We  part  to  meet  no  more  ! 
But  the  latest  throb  that  leaves  my 
heart. 

While  Death  stands  victor  by, 
That  throb,  Eliza,  is  thy  part. 

And  thine  that  latest  sigh  ! 


THE    FAREWELL. 

TO  THE  BRETHREN  OF  ST.  JAMES'S 
LODGE,  TARBOLTON. 

TUNE:   Good-night,  a7idjoy  be  wi  you  a  . 

[At  this  time  the  author  intended  going 
to  Jamaica.  Burns  was  admitted  an  ap- 
prentice of  the  St.  David's  Lodge,  July  4, 
1781.  He  was  elected  depute-master  01 
St.  James's  Lodge  (which  separated  from 
St.  David's)  July  22,  1784.] 


I. 

Adieu  !  a  heart-warm,  fond  adieu ; 

Dear  Brothers  of  the  Mystic  Tie  I 
Ye  favour'd,  ye  enlighten'd  few, 

Companions  of  my  social  joy  ! 

Tho'  I  to  foreign  lands  must  hie, 
Pursuing  Fortune's  slidd'ry  ba' ; 

With  melting  heart  and  brimful  eye, 
I  '11  mind  you  still,  tho'  far  awa. 


11. 

Oft  have  I  met  your  social  band, 

And    spent    the    cheerful,    festive 
night ; 
Oft,  honour'd  with  supreme  command. 

Presided  o'er  the  Sons  of  Light ; 

And  by  that  Hieroglyphic  bright. 
Which  none  but  Craftsmen  ever  saw  ! 

Strong  Mem'ry  on  my  heart  shall 
write 
Those  happy  scenes,  when  far  awa. 


III. 

May  Freedom,  Harmony,  and  Love, 
Unite  you  in  the  Grand  Design, 

Beneath  th'  Omniscient  Eye  above  — 
The  glorious  Architect  Divine  — 
That  you  may  keep  th'  Unerring 
Line, 

Still  rising  by  the  Pluinmefs  I^aw, 
Till  Order  bright  completely  shine. 

Shall  be  my  pray'r,  when  far  awa. 


EPITAPHS. 


63 


IV. 

And  You  farewell !  whose  merits  claim 

Justly  that  Highest  Badge  to  wear  : 
Heav-'n   bless   your   honoured,    noble 
Name, 

To  Masonry  and  Scotia  dear  ! 

A  last  request  permit  me  here, 
When  yearly  ye  assemble  a\ 

One  round,  I  ask  it  with  a  tear, 
To  him,  the  Bard,  that 's  far  awa. 


EPITAPH    ON  A   HENPECKED 
SQUIRE. 

[The  subject  of  this  epitaph  was  Mr. 
Campbell  of  Netherplace,  a  mansion  a 
little  to  the  west  of  Mauchline,  on  the  road 
to  Mossgiel.  T^e  epitaph  was  not  reprinted 
by  Burns,  nor  was  the  following  one.] 

As  father  Adam  first  was  fool'd, 
A  case  that 's  still  too  common, 

Here  lies  a  man  a  woman  ruPd : 
The  Devil  ruled  the  woman. 


EPIGRAM  ON  SAID  OCCASION. 

O  Death,  had'st  thou  but  spared  his 
life. 

Whom  we  this  day  lament ! 
We  freely  wad  exchanged  the  wife, 

An^  2i  been  weel  content. 

Ev'n  as  he  is.  cauld  in  his  grafF, 
The  swap  we  yet  will  do  't ; 

Tak  thou  the  carlin's  carcase  afF, 
Thou  'se  get  the  saul  o'  boot. 


ANOTHER. 

One  Queen  Artemisa,  as  old  stories 

tell. 
When    deprived  of  her  husband  she 

loved  so  well, 
In  respect  for  the  love  and  affection 

he  'd  show'd  her. 
She  reduced  him  to  dust  and  she  drank 

up  the  powder. 


But  Queen  Netherplace,  of  a  different 

complexion, 
When  caird  on  to  order  the  funVal 

direction. 
Would  have  eat  her  dead  lord,  on  a 

slender  pretence. 
Not  to  show  her  respect,  but  —  to  save 

the  expense ! 


EPITAPHS. 

ON    A    CELEBRATED    RULING 
ELDER. 

[Souter  Hood  was  a  ruling  elder  in  Tar- 
bolton,  named  William  Hood.] 

Here   Souter   Hood  in  death   does 
sleep  : 

In  hell,  if  he  's  gane  thither, 
Satan,  gie  him  thy  gear  to  keep  ; 

He  Ul  haud  it  weel  thegither. 


ON   A   NOISY   POLEMIC. 

[James  Humphry,  a  mason  in  Mauchline 
with  no  doubt  of  his  ability  to  debate  with 
Burns.  He  died  in  1844.  He  was  wont  to 
introduce  himself  to  strangers  as  "  Burns's 
blethering  bitch."] 

Below  thir  stanes  lie  Jamie's  banes  : 
O  Death,  it 's  my  opinion. 

Thou  ne'er  took  such  a  bleth'rin  bitch 
Into  thy  dark  dominion. 


ON   WEE   JOHNIE. 

Hicjacet  wee  Johnie. 

[Said  to  be  the  poet's  Kilmarnock  printer. 
There  is  another  claimant,  a  bookseller  in 
Mauchline,  of  diminutive  stature,  named 
John  Wilson.] 

Whoe'er  thou  art.  O  reader,  know, 
That  Death  has  murdered  Johnie, 

An'  here  his  body  lies  fu'  low  — 
For  saul  he  ne'er  had  onie. 


64 


EPITAPHS. 


FOR  THE  AUTHOR'S  FATHER. 

[William  Burness  died  at  Lochlie,  Feb. 
13,  1784,  and  this  "  Epitaph  on  my  Ever 
Honoured  Father"  was  inserted  in  the 
"  First  Common-Place  Book,"  under  the 
date  April  of  that  year.  The  epitaph  is 
engraved  on  the  tombstone  in  AUoway 
Churchyard.] 

O  YE  whose   cheek   the  tear  of  pity 
stains, 
Draw  near  with  pious  revVence,  and 
attend  ! 
Here  lie  the  loving   husband's  dear 
remainsj 
The  tender  father,  and  the  gen'rous 
friend. 

The  pitying  heart  that  felt  for  human 
woe, 
The  dauntless  heart  that  fear'd  no 
human  pride, 
The  friend  of  man  —  to  vice  alone  a 
foe  ; 
For  '  ev'n  his  failings  lean'd  to  vir- 
tue's side.' 


FOR  ROBERT   AIKEN,  Esq. 

[The  gentleman  to  whom  "  The  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night "  was  dedicated.] 

Know  thou,  O  stranger  to  the  fame 
Of  this  much  lov'd,  much  honour'd 
name  ! 
(For   none   that  knew  him  need  be 
told), 
A  warmer  heart  Death  ne'er  made 
cold. 


FOR    GAVIN    HAMILTON,   Esq. 

[These  lines  allude  to  the  persecution 
which  Hamilton  endured  for  riding  on  Sun- 
day, etc.] 

The  poor  man  weeps  —  here  Gavin 
sleeps, 
Whom  canting  wretches  blam'd ; 


But  with  such  as  he,  where'er  he  be, 
JVIay  I  be  sav'd  or  damn'd. 


A   BARD'S    EPITAPH. 


["  Burns's  most  sincere  and  touching  self- 
criticism." — Andrew  Lang.] 


Is  there  a  whim-inspired  fool, 

Owre  fast  for  thought,  owre  hot  for 

rule, 
Owre  blate  to  seek,  owre   proud   to 
snool!  — 

Let  him  draw  near ; 
And  owre  this  grassy  heap  sing  dool, 
And  drap  a  tear. 


II. 


Is  there  a  Bard  of  rustic  song, 
Who,    noteless,    steals    the    crowds 

among, 
That  weekly  this  area  throng?  — 

O,  pass  not  by! 
But  with  a  frater-feeling  strong, 

Here,  heave  a  sigh. 


III. 

Is  there  a  man,  whose  judgment  clear 
Can  others  teach  the  coast  to  steer, 
Yet  runs,  himself,  life's  mad  career 

Wild  as  the  wave  ?  — 
Here  pause  —  and,  thro'  the  starting 
tear. 

Survey  this  grave. 


IV. 

The  poor  inhabitant  below 

Was  quick  to  learn  and  wise  to  know. 

And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow 

And  softer  flame ; 
But  thoughtless  follies  laid  him  low. 

And  stain'd  his  name. 


DEATH  AND   DOCTOR   HORNBOOK. 


65 


Reader,  attend!  whether  thy  soul 
Soars  Fancy's  flights  beyond  the  pole, 


Or  darkling  grubs  this  earthly  hole 

In  low  pursuit ; 
Know,  prudent,  cautious,  self-control 

Is  wisdom's  root. 


ADDED,    EDINBURGH,    1787, 


DEATH  AND   DOCTOR   HORN- 
BOOK. 

A  T?'ue  Story. 

[John  Wilson,  the  hero  of  this  poem, 
was,  at  the  time  of  its  composition,  school- 
niHSter  in  Tarbolton.  He  was,  it  is  said, 
a  fair  scholar,  and  a  very  worthy  man, 
but  vain  of  his  knowledge  of  medicine.  It 
was  his  misfortune  to  encounter  Burns  at  a 
Masonic  meeting,  who,  provoked  by  a  long 
and  pedantic  speech  from  the  Dominie,  ex- 
claimed, the  future  lampoon  dawning  upon 
him,  "  Sit  down,  Dr.  Hornbook."] 


Some  books  are  lies  frae  end  to  end, 
And    some    great    lies    were    never 

penn'd  : 
Ev^n  ministers,  they  hae  been  kend, 

In  holy  rapture, 
A  rousing  whid  at  times  to  vend. 

And  nairt  wi'  Scripture. 

II. 

But  this  that  I  am  gaun  to  tell, 
Which  lately  on  a  night  befel. 
Is  just  as  true  's  the  Deil  's  in  hell 

Or  Dublin  city : 
That  e'er  he  nearer  comes  oursel 

"S  a  muckle  pity! 

III. 

The  clachan  yill  had  made  me  canty, 
I  was  na  fou,  but  just  had  plenty  : 
I    stacher'd    whyles,    but    yet    took 
tent  ay 

To  free  the  ditches  ; 
An'    hillocks,     stanes,     an'    bushes, 
kend  ay 

Frae  ghaists  an'  witches. 


IV. 

The  rising  moon  began  to  glowr 
The  distant  Cumnock  Hills  out-owre  : 
To  count  her  horns,  wi'  a  my  pow'r 

I  set  mysel ; 
But  whether  she  had  three  or  four, 

I  cou'd  na  tell. 


I  was  come  round  about  the  hill. 
And  todlin  down  on  Willie's  mill. 
Setting  my  staff  wi'  a'  my  skill 

To  keep  me  sicker  ; 
Tho'  leeward  whyles,  against  my  will, 

I  took  a  bicker. 

VI. 

I  there  wi'  Something  does  forgather, 
That  pat  me  in  an  eerie  swither ; 
An  awfu'  scythe,  out-owre  ae  shouther. 

Clear-dangling,  hang ; 
A  three-tae'd  leister  on  the  ither 

Lay,  large  an'  lang. 


Its 


VII. 

seem'd  lang 


Scotch  ells 


stature 
twa ; 
The  queerest  shape  that  e'er  I  saw, 
For  fient  a  wame  it  had  ava : 

And  then  its  shanks, 
They  were  as  thin,  as  sharp  an'  smp.' 
As  cheeks  o'  branks. 


VIII. 


'■  Guid-een,'  quo'  I ;  '  Friend,  hae 

been  mawin, 
When  ither  folk  are  busy  savvin  ? ' 
It  seem'd  to  make  a  kind  o'  stan', 
But  naething  spak. 


ye 


66 


DEATH  AND   DOCTOR   HORNBOOK. 


At  length,  says  I :  '  Friend,  whare  ye 


gauni 


Will  ye  go  back  ? ' 


IX. 

It  spak  right  howe  :    'My  name   is 

Death, 
But  be  na'  fley'd.'     Quoth  I :  '  Guid 

faith, 
Ye  're  may  be  come  to  stap  my  breath  ; 

But  tent  me,  billie  ; 
I  red  ye  weel,  take  care  o'  skaith, 
See,  there's  a  gully! ' 

X. 

*  Gudeman,'  quo'    he,  '  put    up    your 

whittle, 
I  'm  no  design'd  to  try  its  mettle ; 
But  if  I  did,  I  wad  be  kittle 

To  be  mislear'd : 
I  wad  na  mind  it,  no  that  spittle 

Out-owre  my  beard.' 

XI. 

'  Weel,  weel  1 '  says  I,  a  bargain  be  't ; 
Come,  gie  's  your  hand,  an'  say  we  're 

gi-ee't ; 
We  '11  ease  our  shanks,  an'  tak  a  seat : 

Come,  gie 's  your  news  : 
This  while  ye  hae  been  monie  a  gate. 

At  monie  a  house.' 

XII. 

'  Ay,   g.y ! '    quo'   he,   an'   shook    his 

)  ead, 
'  It 's  i'en  a  lang,  lang  time  indeed 
Sin'  1  began  to  nick  the  thread 

An'  choke  the  breath  : 
Folk   'naun  do   something   for   their 
b  ead. 

An'  sae  maun  Death. 

XIII. 

'  Sax  tSousand  years   are  near-hand 

fled 
Sin'  J  was  to  the  hutching  bred, 


An'  monie  a  scheme  in  vain  's  been 
laid 

To  stap  or  scar  me ; 
Till   ane    Hornbook 's   ta'en   up    the 
trade. 

And  faith  !  he  '11  waur  me. 


xrv. 

'Ye     ken    Jock     Hornbook    i'   the 

clachan  ? 
Deil  mak  his  king's-hood  in  a  spleu- 

chan! — 
He 's   grown   sae  weel   acquaint  wi' 

Biichati 

And  ither  chaps. 
The   weans   baud    out   their  fingers 

laughin, 

An'  pouk  my  hips. 

XV. 

'  See,  here 's  a  scythe,  an'  there  's  a 

dart. 
They   hae   pierc'd   monie  a    gallant 

heart ; 
But  Doctor  Hornbook  wi'  his  art 

An'  cursed  skill. 
Has  made  them  baith  no  worth  a  fart, 
Damn'd  haet  they  '11  kill! 

XVI. 

'  'T  was  but  yestreen,  nae  farther  gane 
I  threw  a  noble  throw  at  ane ; 
Wi'   less,    I  'm   sure,    I  've   hundreds 
slain ; 

But  Deil-ma-care ! 
It  just  played  dirl  on  the  bane. 

But  did  nae  mair. 


XVII. 

'  Hornbook  was  by  wi'  ready  art. 
An'  had  sae  fortify'd  the  part. 
That  when  I  looked  to  my  dart. 

It  was  sae  blunt, 
Fient  haet  o  't  wad    hae   pierc'd  the 
heart 

Of  a  kail-runt. 


DEATH   AND   DOCTOR   HORNBOOK. 


67 


XVIII. 

*  I  drew  my  scythe  in  sic  a  fury, 

I  near-hand  cowpit  wi'  my  hurry, 
But  yet  the  bauld  Apothecary 

Withstood  the  shock : 
I  might  as  vveel  hae  try'd  a  quarry 

0'  hard  whin-rock. 

XIX. 

*  Ev'n  them  he  canna  get  attended, 
Altho'  their  face  he  ne'er  had  kend  it, 
Just  shit  in  a  kail-blade  an^  send  it, 

As  soon 's  he  smells  't, 
Baith   their    disease    and   what   will 
mend  it. 

At  once  he  tells  't. 

XX. 

'And    then    a'    doctor's    saws     and 

whittles 
Of  a'  dimensions,  shapes,  an'  mettles, 
A'  kinds  o'  boxes,  mugs,  and  bottles, 

He 's  sure  to  hae  ; 
Their  Latin  names  as  fast  he  rattles 
As  A  B  C. 

XXI. 

*  Calces  o'  fossils,  earth,  and  trees  ; 
True  sal-Diariiuini  o'  the  seas  ; 
The_/"^;7>/^  of  beans  an' pease. 

He  has  "t  in  plenty  ; 
Aqua-fontis^  what  you  please. 
He  can  content  ye. 

XXII. 

*  Forbye     some      new,      uncommon 

weapons, 
Urinus  spiritus  of  capons  ; 
Or  mite-horn  shavings,  filings,  scrap- 
ings, 

Distill'd  per  se ; 
Sal-alkali  o''  midge-tail-clippings, 
And  monie  mae.' 

XXIII. 

'  Waes  me  for  Johnie  Ged's  Hole  now,' 
Quoth  I  '  if  that  thae  news  be  true ! 


His  braw  calf-ward  whare  gowansgrew 
Sae  white  and  bonie, 

Nae  doubt  they  'II  rive  it  wi'  the  plew  : 
They  "11  ruin  Johnie!' 


XXIV. 


The  creature  grain'd  an  eldritch  laugh. 
And  says  :  "ye  nedna  yoke  the  pleugh, 
Kirkyards  will  soon  be  till'd  eneugh, 

Tak  ye  nae  fear : 
They  '11   a'  be   trench'd  wi    monie   a 


sheugh 

In  twa-three  year. 

XXV. 

'  Whare  I  kilPd  ane,  a  fair  strae  death 
By  loss  o'  blood  or  want  o'  breath, 
This  night  I  'm  free  to  tak  my  aith, 

That  Hornbook's  skill 
Has  clad  a  score  i'  their  last  claith 

By  drap  an'  pill. 

XXVI. 

'  An  honest  wabster  to  his  trade, 
W^hase  wife's  twa  nieves  were  scarce 

weel-bred, 
Gat  tippence-worth  to  mend  her  head, 

When  it  was  sair ; 
The  wife  slade  cannie  to  her  bed. 

But  ne'er  spak  mair. 

XXVII. 

'A  countra  laird  had  taen  the  batts. 
Or  some  curmurring  in  his  guts. 
His  only  son  for  Hornbook  sets, 

An'  pays  him  well : 
The  lad,  for  twa  guid  gimmer-pets. 

Was  laird  himsel. 

XXVIII. 

^  A  bonie  lass  —  ye  kend  her  name  — 
Some  ill-brewn  drink  had  hov'd  her 

wame ; 
She  trusts  hersel,  to  hide  the  shame, 

In  Hornbook's  care; 
Horn  sent  her  aff  to  her  lang  hame 

To  hide  it  there. 


68 


THE   BRIGS   OF  AYR. 


XXIX. 

That's  just  a  swatch  o'  Hornbook's 
way; 
Thus  goes  he  on  from  day  to  day, 
Thus  does  he  poison,  kill,  an'  slay, 

An  's  weel  paid  for  't ; 
Yet  stops  me  o'  my  lawfu'  prey 
Wi'  his  damn'd  dirt : 

XXX. 

'  But,  hark  !  I  '11  tell  you  of  a  plot, 
Tho'  dinna  ye  be  speakin  o't : 
I  '11  nail  the  self-conceited  sot, 

As  dead 's  a  herrin ; 
Niest  time  we  meet,  I  '11  wad  a  groat, 

He  gets  his  fairin  ! ' 

XXXI. 

But  just  as  he  began  to  tell. 

The  auld  kirk-hammer  strak  the  bell 

Some  wee  short  hour  ayont  the  twal. 

Which  raised  us  baith  : 
I  took  the  way  that  pleas'd  mysel. 

And  sae  did  Death. 


THE   BRIGS   OF   AYR. 

A  Poem. 

INSCRIBED     TO     JOHN      BALLANTINE, 
ESQ.,   AYR. 

[Probably  composed  in  September-Oc- 
tober, 1786 ;  a  new  bridge  was  being  built 
at  Ayr  when  Mr.  Ballantine,  a  local  banker, 
was  dean  of  guild.  The  boast  of  the  "  Auld 
Brig"  that  it  would  "be  a  brig"  when  its 
neighbor  was  a  "  shapeless  cairn  "  was  jus- 
lified  in  1877,  when  the  New  Bridge  was  so 
injured  by  floods  that  it  had  to  be  practi- 
cally rebuilt.] 

The  simple  Bard,  rough  at  the  rustic 

plough. 
Learning  his  tuneful  trade  from  ev'ry 

bough 
(The  chanting  linnet,  or  the  mellow 

thrush, 
Hailing  the  setting  sun,  sweet,  in  the 

green  thorn  bush ; 


The  soaring  lark,  the  perching  red- 
breast shrill. 

Or  deep-tonM  plovers  grey,  wild- 
whistling  o'er  the  hill)  : 

Shall  he  —  nurst  in  the  peasant's 
lowly  shed. 

To  hardy  independence  bravely  bred. 

By  early  poverty  to  hardship  steePd, 

An  train'd  to  arms  in  stern  misfor- 
tune's field  — 

Shall  he  be  guilty  of  their  hireling 
crimes. 

The  servile,  mercenary  Swiss  of 
rhymes  ? 

Or  labour  hard  the  panegyric  close. 

With  all  the  venal  soul  of  dedicating 
prose  ? 

No !  though  his  artless  strains  he 
rudely  sings. 

And  throws  his  hand  uncouthly  o'er 
the  strings. 

He  glows  with  all  the  spirit  of  the 
bard. 

Fame,  honest  fame,  his  great,  his  dear 
reward. 

Still,  if  some  patron's  gen'rous  care 
he  trace, 

Skiird  in  the  secret  to  bestow  with 
grace ; 

When  Ballantine  befriends  his  humble 
name, 

And  hands  the  rustic  stranger  up  to 
fame, 

With  heartfelt  throes  his  grateful 
bosom  swells  : 

The  godlike  bliss,  to  give,  alone 
excels. 

'T  was  when  the  stacks  get  on  their 
winter  hap. 

And  thack  and  rape  secure  the  toil- 
won  crap ; 

Potatoe-bings  are  snugged  up  frae 
skaith 

O'  coming  winter's  biting,  frosty 
breath  ; 

The  bees,  rejoicing  o'er  their  summer 
toils  — 

Unnumber'd  buds'  an'  flowers'  deli- 
cious spoils, 


THE   BRIGS   OF  AYR. 


69 


Seal'd  up  with  frugal  care  in  massive 

waxen  piles  — 
Are  doom'd  by  man,  that  tyrant  o^er 

the  weak, 
The  death  o'  devils  smoor'd  wi'  brim- 
stone reek  : 
The   thundering   guns   are  heard  on 

ev'ry  side, 
The  wounded  coveys,  reeling,  scatter 

wide ; 
The  feathered  field-mates,  bound  by 

Nature's  tie. 
Sires,  mothers,  children  in  one   car- 
nage lie : 
(What  warm,  poetic  heart    but   inly 

bleeds. 
And  execrates  man's  savage,  ruthless 

deeds  !) 
Nae  mair  the  flower  in  field  or  meadow 

springs  ; 
Nae  mair  the  grove  with  airy  concert 

rings. 
Except  perhaps  the  robin's  whistling 

glee, 
Proud  o'  the  height  o'  some  bit  half- 

lang  tree ; 
The  hoary  morns  precede  the  sunny 

days ; 
Mild,  calm,  serene,  widespreads   the 

noontide  blaze. 
While    thick   the    gossamour  waves 

wanton  in  the  rays. 

'Twas  in  that  season,  w'hen  a 
simple  Bard, 

Unknown  and  poor  —  simplicity's  re- 
ward !  — 

Ae  night,  within  the  ancient  brugh 
of  Ayr, 

By  whim  inspir'd  or  haply  prest  wi' 
care. 

He  left  his  bed,  and  took  his  wayward 
route. 

And  down  by  Simpson's  wheel'd  the 
left  about 

(Whether  impell'd  by  all-directing 
Fate, 

To  witness  wdiat  I  after  shall  nar- 
rate ; 

Or  whether,  rapt  in  meditation  high. 


He  wander'd  forth,  he  knew  not 
where  nor  why)  : 

The  drowsy  Dungeon-Clock  had 
numbered  two, 

And  Wallace  Tower  had  sworn  the 
fact  was  true : 

The  tide-swoln  Firth,  with  sullen- 
sounding  roar. 

Through  the  still  night  dash'd  hoarse 
along  the  shore ; 

All  else  was  hush'd  as  Nature's  closed 
e'e ; 

The  silent  moon  shone  high  o'er  tower 
and  tree ; 

The  chilly  frost,  beneath  the  silver 
beam, 

Crept,  gently-crusting,  o'er  the  glitter- 
ing stream. 

When,  lo!  on  either  hand  the  lis- 
tening Bard, 

The  clanging  sugh  of  whistling  wings 
is  heard ; 

Two  dusky  forms  dart  thro'  the  mid- 
night air. 

Swift  as  the  gos  drives  on  the  wheel- 
ing hare  ; 

Ane  on  th'  Auld  Brig  his  airy  shape 
uprears, 

The  ither  flutters  o'er  the  rising  piers  : 

Our  warlock  rhymer  instantly  descried 

The  Sprites  that  owre  the  Brigs  of 
Ayr  preside. 

(That  bards  are  second-sighted  is  nae 
joke. 

And  ken  the  lingo  of  the  spiritual 
folk ; 

Fays,  spunkies,  kelpies,  a',  they  can 
explain  them, 

And  ev'n  the  vera  deils  they  brawly 
ken  them.) 

Auld  Brig  appear'd  of  ancient  Pictish 
race. 

The  vera  wrinkles  Gothic  in  his  face: 

He  seem'd  as  he  wi'  Time  had  war- 
stl'd  lang. 

Yet,  teughly  doure,  he  bade  an  unco 
bang. 

New  Brig  was  buskit  in  a  braw  new 
coat. 


■/O 


THE   13 RIGS   OF   AYR. 


That  he,  at  London,  frae  ane  Adams 

cot  ■ 

In 's  hand  five  taper  staves  as  smooth  "s 

a  bead, 
Wi'    virls    an'    whirlygigums    at    the 

head. 
The  Goth  was    stalking   round  with 

anxious  search, 
Spying  the  time-worn  flaws  in  evVy 

arch. 
It  chanc'd  his  new-come  neebor  took 

his  e'e. 
And    e'en    a  vex'd    and  angry  heart 

had  he! 
Wi'  thieveless  sneer  to  see  his  mod- 
ish mien, 
He,  down  the  water,  gies    him    this 

guid-een :  — 

AULD   BRIG. 

*  I  doubt  na,  frien',  ye  '11  think  ye  're 

nae  sheep  sliank, 
Ance  ye  were  streekit  owre  frae  bank 

to  bank  ! 
But  gin  ye  be  a  brig  as  auld  as  me  — 
Tho'  faith,  that   date,  I  doubt,  ye  '11 

never  see  — 
There  '11  be,  if  that  day  come,  I  '11  wad 

a  boddle, 
Some    fewer  whigmeleeries    in    your 

noddle.' 

NEW   BRIG. 

^Auld  Vandal!   ye  but  show  your 

little  mense. 
Just   much    about  it  wi'  your  scanty 

sense : 
Will  your  poor,  narrow  foot-path  of  a 

street. 
Where    twa    wheel-barrows    tremble 

when  they  meet. 
Your   ruin'd,   formless  bulk  o'  stane 

an'  lime, 
Compare  wi'  bonie   brigs  o'  modern 

time? 
There  's  men  of  taste  would  tak  the 

Ducat  stream, 
Tho'  they  should  cast  the  vera  sark 

and  swim. 


E'er  they  would  grate  their  feelings 

wi'  the  view 
O'  sic  an  ugly,  Gothic  hulk  as  you.' 

AULD   BRIG. 

'Conceited    gowk!    puff'd   up    wi' 

windy  pride ! 
This  monie   a  year   I  've   stood   the 

flood  an'  tide ; 
And  tho'  wi'  crazy  eild  I  'm  sair  for- 

fairn, 
I  '11  be  a  brig  when  ye  're  a  shapeless 

cairn  ! 
As  yet  ye  little  ken  about  the  mat- 
ter, 
But  twa-three  winters  will  inform  ye 

better. 
When  heavy,  dark,  continued,  a'-day 

rains 
Wi'  deepening   deluges   o'erflow  the 

plains ; 
When  from  the  hills  where   springs 

the  brawling  Coil, 
Or   stately    Lugar's   mossy  fountains 

boil. 
Or   where   the    Greenock   winds   his 

moorland  course. 
Or  haunted  Garpal  draws  his  feeble 

source, 
Arous'd  by  blustering  winds  an'  spot- 
ting thowes, 
In  monie  a  torrent  down  the  snaw- 

broo  rowes ; 
While     crashing    ice,  borne  on   the 

roaring  speat. 
Sweeps  dams,  an'  mills,  an'  brigs,  a' 

to  the  gate ; 
And    from    Glenbuck    down   to   the 

Ratton-Key 
Auld   Ayr    is    just    one    lengthen'd, 

tumbling  sea  — 
Then   down    ye  '11  hurl  (deil  nor  ye 

never  rise  !), 
And  dash  the  gimilie  jaups  up  to  the 

pouring  skies  ! 
A    lesson    sadly    teaching,   to    your 

cost, 
That     Architecture's     noble     art     is 

lost!' 


THE  BRIGS   OF   AYR. 


71 


NEW    BRIG. 

'  Fine  architecturcj  trowth.  I  needs 

must  say  't  o  't, 
The  Lord  be  thankit  that  we  Ve  tint 

the  gate  o  "t ! 
Gaunt,   ghastly,   ghaist-alluring    edi- 
fices, 
Hanging   with    threatening    jut,   Hke 

precipices  ; 
O'er-arching,  mouldy,  gloom-inspiring 

coves, 
Supporting     roofs     fantastic  —  stony 

groves ; 
Windows     and    doors    in    nameless 

sculptures  drest. 
With  order,  symmetry,  or  taste  un- 

blest ; 
Forms  like  some   bedlam   statuary's 

dream. 
The   craz'd   creations   of    misguided 

whim  ; 
Forms    might  be  worshipp'd  on  the 

bended  knee. 
And  still  the  second  dread  Command 

be  free  : 
Their  likeness  is  not  found  on  earth, 

in  air,  or  sea! 
Mansions   that   would    disgrace    the 

building  taste 
Of  any  mason  reptile,  bird  or  beast, 
Fit  only  for  a  doited  monkish  race, 
Or   frosty  maids   forsworn   the    dear 

embrace. 
Or  cuifs  of  later  times,  wha  held  the 

notion. 
That  sullen  gloom  was  sterling  true 

devotion : 
Fancies    that  our  guid  brugh  denies 

protection, 
And  soon  may  they  expire,  unblest 

with  resurrection  ! ' 


AULD   BRIG. 

'  O  ye,  my  dear-remember'd,  ancient 

yealings, 
Were  ye  but  here  to  share  my  wounded 

feelings  ! 
Ye  worthy  proveses,  an'  monie  a  bailie. 


Wha  in  the  paths  o'  righteousness  did 
toil  ay ; 

Ye  dainty  deacons,  an'  ye  douce  con- 
veeners. 

To  whom  our  moderns  are  but  causey- 
cleaners  ; 

Ye  godly  councils,  wha  hae  blest  this 
town  ; 

Ye  godly  brethren  o'  the  sacred  gown, 

Wha  meekly  gie  your  hurdles  to  the 
smiters  ; 

And  (what  would  now  be  strange), 
ye  godly  Writers  : 

A'  ye  douce  folk  I  've  born  aboon  the 
broo. 

Were  ye  but  here,  what  would  ye  say 
or  do  ! 

How  would  your  spirits  groan  in  deep 
vexation 

To  see  each  melancholy  alteration  ; 

And,  agonising,  curse  the  time  and 
place 

When  ye  begat  the  base  degen'rate 
race  ! 

Nae  langer  rev'rend  men,  their  coun- 
try's glory, 

In  plain  braid  Scots  hold  forth  a  plain, 
braid  story ; 

Nae  langer  thrifty  citizens,  an'  douce, 

Meet  owre  a  pint  or  in  the  council- 
house  : 

But  staumrel,  corky-headed,  graceless 
gentry. 

The  herryment  and  ruin  of  the  coun- 
try; 

Men  three-parts  made  by  tailors  and 
by  barbers, 

Wha  waste  your  weel-hain'd  gear  on 
damn'd  New  Brigs  and harbouis ! ' 

NEW  BRIG. 

^  Now   hand   you    there !  for   faith 

ye  've  said  enough. 
And  muckle  mair  than  you  can  mak 

to  through. 
As  for  your  priesthood,  I  shall  say 

but 'little, 
Corbies  and   clergy  are  a  shot  right 

kittle : 


72 


THE   BRIGS   OF  AYR. 


But,    under   favour    o'    your    langer 

beard, 
Abuse  o'  magistrates  might  weel  be 

spar'd ; 
To   liken    them   to   your   auld-warld 

squad, 
1   must   needs   say,  comparisons  are 

odd. 
In  Ayr,  wag- wits  nae  mair  can  hae  a 

handle 
To    mouth    'a    Citizen,'    a  term   o' 

scandal ; 
Nae  mair  the  council  waddles  down 

the  street. 
In  all  the  pomp  of  ignorant  conceit ; 
Men  wha  grew  wise  priggin  owre  hops 

an'  raisins. 
Or  gather'd  liberal  views  in  bonds  and 

seisins  ; 
If  haply   Knowledge,    on   a  random 

tramp, 
Had  shor'd  them  with  a  glimmer  of 

his  lamp. 
And  would  to  common-sense  for  once 

betrayed  them, 
Plain,  dull  stupidity  stept  kindly  in  to 

aid  them.' 

What  farther  clish-ma-claver  might 

been  said. 
What   bloody   wars   if    Sprites    had 

blood  to  shed, 
No  man  can  tell ;  but,  all  before  their 

sight, 
A  fairy  train  appeared  in  order  bright : 
Adown   the    glittering    stream    they 

featly  danc'd ; 
Bright   to   the    moon    their  various 

dresses  glanc'd ; 
They  footed  o'er  the  wat'ry  glass  so 

neat. 
The   infant  ice  scarce  bent  beneath 

their  feet ; 
While  arts  of  minstrelsy  among  them 

rung, 
And    soul-ennobling     Bards     heroic 

ditties  sung. 

O,  had  M'Lauchlan,  thairm-inspir- 
ing  sage, 


Been  there  to  hear  this  heavenly  band 

engage. 
When  thro'  his  dear  strathspeys  they 

bore  with  Highland  rage  ; 
Or   when   they    stmck    old    Scotia's 

melting  airs. 
The  lover's  raptured  joys  or  bleeding 

cares ; 
How  would  his  Highland  lug   been 

nobler  fir'd, 
And   ev'n   his   matchless   hand  with 

finer  touch  inspired  ! 
No  oruess  could  tell  what  instrument 

appear'd. 
But  all  the  soul  of  Music's  self  was 

heard ; 
Harmonious   concert   rung   in   every 

part. 
While  simple  melody  pour'd  moving 

on  the  heart. 

The  Genius  of  the  Stream  in  front 

appears, 
A      venerable    chief     advanc'd     in 

years ; 
His     hoary    head    with    water-lilies 

crown'd, 
His    manly    leg    with    garter-tangle 

bound. 
Next  came  the  loveliest  pair  in  all  the 

ring, 
Sweet  Female  Beauty  hand  in  hand 

wdth  Spring; 
Then,  crown'd  with  flow'ry  hay,  came 

Rural  Joy, 
And  Summer,  with  his  fervid-beaming 

eye; 
All-cheering  Plenty,  with  her  flowmg 

horn, 
Led    yellow   Autumn   wreath'd   with 

nodding  corn ; 
Then   Winter's    time-bleach'd   locks 

did  hoary  show. 
By  Hospitality,  with  cloudless  brow. 
Next  follow'd  Courage,  with  his  mar- 
tial stride, 
From   where    the    Feal    wild-woody 

coverts  hide ; 
Benevolence,    with    mild^    benignant 

air, 


THE  ORDINATION. 


73 


A  female  form,  came  from  the  towers 
of  Stair ; 

Learning  and  Worth  in  equal  meas- 
ures trode 

From  simple  Catrine,  their  long-lov'd 
abode ; 

Last,  white-rob'd  Peace,  crown'd  with 
a  hazel  wreath, 

To  rustic  Agriculture  did  bequeath 

The  broken,  iron  instruments  of 
death  : 

At  sight  of  whom  our  Sprites  forgat 
their  kindling  wrath. 


THE   ORDINATION. 

For  sense,  they  little  owe  to  fmgal  Heav'n  : 
To  please  the  mob  they  hide  the  little  giv'n. 

["  Written  very  early  in  1786,  but  not  in- 
cluded in  the  Kilmarnock  edition.  A  paper 
bulletin  the  war  of  Auld  and  New  Lights, — 
Calvinism  and  'Common  Sense,'  —  which, 
by  the  way,  is  no  theological  criterion."  — 
Andrew 'Lang.] 


Kilmarnock  wabsters,  fidge  an'  claw. 

An'  pour  your  creeshie  nations  ; 
An'  ye  wha  leather  rax  an'  draw, 

Of  a'  denominations ; 
Swith !  to  the  Laigh  Kirk,  ane  an'  a', 

An'  there  tak  up  your  stations  ; 
Then  afif  to  Begbie's  in  a  raw, 

An'  pour  divine  libations 
For  joy  this  day. 


II. 

Curst  Common-sense,  that  imp  o'  hell, 

Cam  in  wi'  Maggie  Lauder: 
But  Oliphant  aft  made  her  yell, 

An'  Russell  sair  misca'd  her : 
This  day  Mackinlay  taks  the  flail, 

An'  he  's  the  boy  will  blaud  her ! 
He  '11  clap  a  shangan  on  her  tail. 

An'  set  the  bairns  to  daud  her 
Wi'  dirt  this  day. 


III. 

Mak  haste  an'  turn  King  David  owre, 

An'  lilt  wi'  holy  clangor ; 
O'  double  verse  come  gie  us  four, 

An'  skirl  up  the  Bangor: 
This  day  the  Kirk  kicks  up  a  stoure : 

Nae  mair  the  knaves  shall  wrang 
her, 
For  Heresy  is  in  her  pow'r, 

And  gloriously  she  '11  whang  her 
Wi'  pith  this  day. 


IV. 

Come,  let  a  proper  text  be  read, 

An'  touch  it  aif  wi'  vigour, 
How^  graceless  Ham  leugh  at  his  dad. 

Which  made  Canaan  a  nigger; 
Or  Phineas  drove  the  murdering  blade 

Wi'  whore-abhorring  rigour; 
Or  Zipporah,  the  scauldin  jad, 

Was  like  a  bluidy  tiger 

r  th'  inn  that  day. 


V. 

There,  try  his  mettle  on  the  Creed, 

And  bind  him  down  wi'  caution,  — 
That  stipend  is  a  carnal  weed 

He  taks  but  for  the  fashion  — 
And  gie  him  o'er  the  flock  to  feed, 

And  punish  each  transgression  ; 
Especial,  rams  that  cross  the  breed, 

Gie  them  sufficient  threshin  : 
Spare  them  nae  day. 


VI. 

Now  auld  Kilmarnock,  cock  thy  tail, 

An'  toss  thy  horns  fu'  canty ; 
Nae  mair  thou  'It  rowte  out-owre  the 
dale. 

Because  thy  pasture 's  scanty  ; 
For  lapfu's  large  o'  gospel  kail 

Shall  fill  thy  crib  in  plenty. 
An'  runts  o'  grace,  the  pick  an'  wale, 

No  gien  by  way  o'  dainty. 
But  ilka  day. 


74 


THE   ORDINATION. 


VII. 

Nae   mair   by  BabePs  streams  we'll 
weep 
To  think  upon  our  Zion  ; 
And  hing  our  fiddles  up  to  sleep, 

Like  baby-clouts  a-dryin. 
Come,   screw   the    pegs   wi^    tunefu' 
cheep, 
And  o'er  the  thairms  be  tryin  ; 
O,  rare  !  to  see  our  elbucks  wheep, 
And  a'  like  lamb-tails  flyin 
Fu'  fast  this  day ! 

VIII. 

Lang,  Patronage,  wi'  rod  o'  airn. 

Has  shor'd  the  Kirk's  undoin  ; 
As  lately  Fenwick,  sair  forfairn, 

Has  proven  to  its  ruin  : 
Our  patron,  honest  man  !  Glencairn, 

He  saw  mischief  was  brewin  ; 
An'  like  a  godly,  elect  bairn. 

He  's  waled  us  out  a  true  ane. 
And  sound  this  day. 


IX. 

Now  Robertson  harangue  nae  mair. 

But  steek  your  gab  for  ever ; 
Or  try  the  wicked  town  of  Ayr, 

For  there  they'll  think  you  clever; 
Or,  nae  reflection  on  your  lear. 

Ye  may  commence  a  shaver ; 
Or  to  the  Netherton  repair. 

An'  turn  a  carpet-weaver 

Aif-hand  this  day. 


Mu'trie  and  you  were  just  a  match, 

We  never  had  sic  twa  drones  : 
Auld    Hornie    did    the    Laigh    Kirk 
watch. 

Just  like  a  winkin  baudrons. 
And  ay  he  catch'd  the  tither  wretch. 

To  fry  them  in  his  caudrons  ; 
But  now  his  Honor  maun  detach, 

Wi'  a'  his  brimstone  squadrons, 
Fast,  fast  this  day. 


XI. 

See,  see  auld  Orthodoxy's  faes 

She's  swingein  thro'  the  city  ! 
Hark,    how    the    nine-tail'd    cat    she 
plays  ! 
I  vow  it 's  unco  pretty  : 
There,   Learning,  with   his  Greekish 
face. 
Grunts  out  some  Latin  ditty ; 
And  Common-Sense  is  gaun,  she  says, 
To  mak  to  Jamie  Beattie 

Her  plaint  this  day. 


XII. 

But  there 's  Morality  himsel, 

Embracing  all  opinions ; 
Hear,  how  he  gies  the  tither  yell 

Between  his  twa  companions  ! 
See,  how  she  peels  the  skin  an'  fell. 

As  ane  were  peelin  onions  ! 
Now  there,  they're  packed  aff  to  hell, 

An'  banish'd  our  dominions, 
Henceforth  this  day. 


XIII. 

O  happy  day!  rejoice,  rejoice  ! 

Come  bouse  about  the  porter! 
Morality's  demure  decoys 

Shall  here  nae  mair  find  quarter 
Mackinlay,  Russell,  are  the  boys 

That  Heresy  can  torture  ; 
They  '11  gie  her  on  a  rape  a  hoyse, 

And  cowe  her  measure  shorter 
By  th'  head  some  day. 


XIV. 

Come,  bring  the  tither  mutchkin  in. 

And  here  's  —  for  a  conclusion  — 
To  ev'ry  New  Light  mother's  son. 

From  this  time  forth,  confusion! 
If  mair  they  deave  us  wi'  their  din 

Or  patronage  intrusion. 
We  '11  light  a  spunk,  and  ev'ry  skin 

We  '11  run  them  aif  in  fusion, 
Like  oil  some  day. 


THE   CALF. —ADDRESS  TO  THE   UNCO   GUID. 


75 


THE   CALF. 

To  THE  Rev.  James  Steven,  on  his 
TEXT,  Malachi  iv.  2 :  — 

"  And  ye  shall  go  forth,  and  grow  np   as 
calves  of  the  stall," 

["  The  laugh  which  this  Httle  poem  raised 
against  Steven  was  a  loud  one.  Burns  com- 
posed it  during  the  sermon  to  which  it  re- 
lates, and  repeated  it  to  Gavin  Hamilton, 
with  whom  he  happened  on  that  day  to 
dine."  — Allan  Cunningham.] 

I. 

Right,  sir!  your  text  I  '11  prove  it  true, 

Tho'  heretics  may  laugh  ; 
For  instance,  there 's  yoursel  just  now, 

God  knows,  an  unco  calf. 


II. 

And  should  some  patron  be  so  kind 

As  bless  you  wi'  a  kirk, 
I  doubt  na,  sir,  but  then  we  '11  find 

You  're  still  as  great  a  stirk. 


III. 

But,  if  the  lover's  raptur'd  hour 
Shall  ever  be  your  lot, 

Forbid  it,  every  heavenly  Power, 
You  e'er  should  be  a  stot ! 


IV. 

Tho',  when  some  kind  connubial  dear 

Your  but-an'-ben  adorns, 
The  like  has  been  that  you  may  wear 

A  noble  head  of  horns. 


V. 

And,   in    your    lug,    most    reverend 
James, 
To  hear  you  roar  and  rowte. 
Few  men   o'  sense  will   doubt   your 
claims 
To  rank  among  the  tiowte. 


VI. 

And   when   ye  're    number'd    wi'    the 
dead 
Below  a  grassy  hillock. 
With   justice    they   may    mark    your 
head  :  — 
'  Here  lies  a  famous  bullock! ' 


ADDRESS    TO   THE    UNCO 
GUID, 

OR   THE   RIGIDLY   RIGHTEOUS. 

Afy  Son,  these  maxims  make  a  rule, 

Ati  lump  them  ay  thegither: 
The  Rigid  Righteous  is  a  fool. 

The  Rigid  Wise  an  it  her  ; 
The  cleanest  corn  that  e'er  was  dight 

May  hue  some  pyles  o'  caff  in  ; 
So  ne'er  a  fellow-creature  slight 

For  rajidomfits  0'  daffin. 

Solomon  {Eccles.  vii.  16). 

["  It  is  not  easy  to  determine  the  pre- 
cise period  when  this  master-performance 
was  conceived  and  executed.  Had  it  been 
written  before  midsummer  of  1786  it  surely 
would  not  have  been  excluded  from  his 
Kilmarnock  volume.  There  is  much  of 
stern,  humiliating  truth  in  the  train  of 
thought  pursued  in  the  poem,  which  was  a 
favorite  one  with  the  author."  — WILLIAM 
ScoTT  Douglas.] 

I. 

O  YE,  wha  are  sae  guid  yoursel, 

Sae  pious  and  sae  holy, 
Ye  've  nought  to  do  but  mark  and  tell 

Your  neebours'  fauts  and  folly  ; 
Whase  life  is  like  a  weel-gaun  mill. 

Supplied  wi'  store  o'  water ; 
The  heapet  happer  's  ebbing  still, 

An'  still  the  clap  plays  clatter  ! 


II. 

Hear  me,  ye  venerable  core, 
As  counsel  for  poor  mortals 

That  frequent  pass  douce  Wisdom's 
door 
For  glaikit  Folly's  portals ; 


76 


TAM   SAMSON'S   ELEGY. 


I  for  their  thoughtless,  careless  sakes 
Would  here  propone  defences  — 

Their  donsie  tricks,  their  black  mis- 
takes, 
Their  failings  and  mischances. 

III. 

Ye  see  your  state  \vi'  theirs  compared, 

And  shudder  at  the  niffer ; 
But  cast  a  moment^s  fair  regard, 

What  makes  the  mighty  differ  ? 
Discount  what  scant  occasion  gave  ; 

That  purity  ye  pride  in ; 
And  (what  ^s  aft  mair  than  a'  the  lave) 

Your  better  art  o^  hidin. 


IV. 

Think,  when  your  castigated  pulse 

Gies  now  and  then  a  wallop, 
What  ragings  must  his  veins  convulse, 

That  still  eternal  gallop  ! 
Wi'  wind  and  tide  fair  i'  your  tail. 

Right  on  ye  scud  your  sea-way  ; 
But  in  the  teeth  o'  baith  to  sail, 

It  maks  an  unco  lee- way. 

V. 

See  Social-life  and  Glee  sit  down 

All  joyous  and  unthinking, 
Till,     quite     trans mugrify'd    they  're 
grown 

Debauchery  and  Drinking : 
O,  would  they  stay  to  calculate, 

Th'  eternal  consequences, 
Or — your    more    dreaded     hell     to 
state  — 

Damnation  of  expenses  ! 

VI. 

Ye  high,  exalted,  virtuous  dames. 

Tied  up  in  godly  laces. 
Before  ye  gie  poor  Frailty  names. 

Suppose  a  change  o'  cases : 
A  dear-lov'd  lad,  convenience  snug, 

A  treacherous  inclination  — 
But,  let  me  whisper  i'  your  lug, 

Ye  're  aiblins  nae  temptation. 


VII. 

Then  gently  scan  your  brother  man, 

Still  gentler  sister  woman  ; 
Tho'  they  may  gang  a  kennin  wrang, 

To  step  aside  is  human : 
One  point  must  still  be  greatly  dark. 

The  moving  why  they  do  it ; 
And  just  as  lamely  can  ye  mark 

How  far  perhaps  they  rue  it. 

VIII. 

Who  made  the  heart,  't  is  He  alone 

Decidedly  can  try  us  : 
He  knows  each  chord,  its  various  tone, 

Each  spring,  its  various  bias  : 
Then  at  the  balance  let 's  be  mute. 

We  never  can  adjust  it ; 
What 's  done  we  partly  may  compute. 

But  know  not  what 's  resisted. 


TAM   SAMSON'S   ELEGY. 


An  honest  man  's  the  noblest  work  of  God. 

Pope. 

["  When  this  worthy  old  sportsman  went 
out  last  muir-fowl  season,  he  supposed  it 
was  to  be,  in  Ossian's  phrase,  '  the  last  of 
his  fields,'  and  expressed  an  ardent  wish  to 
die  and  be  buried  in  the  muirs.  On  this 
hint  the  author  composed  his  Elegy  and 
Epitaph."     (R.  B.)] 


Has  auld  Kilmarnock  seen  the  Deil? 
Or  great  Mackinlay  thrawn  his  heel  ? 
Or  Robertson  again  grown  weel 

To  preach  an'  read  ? 
*  Na,  waur  than  a'  ! '  cries  ilka  chiel, 

*  Tam  Samson  's  dead  ! ' 

II. 

Kilmarnock  lang  may  grunt  an'  grane. 
An'  sigh,  an'  sab,  an'  greet  her  lane, 
An'  deed  her  bairns  —  man,  wife  an' 
wean  — 

In  mourning  weed ; 


TAM   SAMSON'S   ELEGY. 


77 


To  Death  she  's  clearly  pay'd  the  kain  : 
Tarn  Samson  's  dead  ! 


III. 

The  Brethren  o'  the  mystic  level 
May  hing  their  head  in  woefu'  bevel, 
While  by  their  nose   the  tears  will 
revel, 

Like  onie  bead ; 
Death's  gien  the  Lodge  an  unco  devel : 

Tam  Samson 's  dead  ! 


IV. 

When  W^inter  muffles  up  his  cloak, 
And  binds  the  mire  like  a  rock  ; 
When  to  the  loughs  the  curlers  flock, 

Wi'  gleesome  speed, 
Wha  will  they  station  at  the  cock?  — 

Tam  Samson 's  dead  ! 


V. 

He  was  the  king  of  a'  the  core, 
To  guard,  or  draw,  or  wick  a  bore, 
Or  up  the  rink  like  Jehu  roar 

In  time  o'  need  ; 
But   now  he  lags   on   Death's   hog- 


score 


Tam  Samson 's  dead  ! 


VI. 

Now  safe  the  stately  sawmont  sail, 
And   trouts    bedropp'd   wi'    crimson 

hail, 
And  eels,  weel-kend  for  souple  tail, 

And  geds  for  greed. 
Since,  dark  in  Death's  fish-creel,  we 
wail 

Tam  Samson  dead  ! 

VII. 

Rejoice,  ye  birring  paitricks  a' ; 

Ye  cootie  moorcocks,  crousely  craw ; 

Ye  maukins,  cock  your  fud  fu'  braw 

Withouten  dread  ; 
Your  mortal  fae  is  now  awa : 

Tam  Samson  "s  dead  ! 


VIII. 

That  woefu'  morn  be  ever  mourn'd 
Saw  him  in  shootin  graith  adorn'd, 
While     pointers      round      impatient 
burn'd, 

Frae  couples  free'd ; 
But  och !  he  gaed  and  ne'er  returned : 

Tam  Samson  's  dead. 


IX. 

In  vain  auld-age  his  body  batters, 
In  vain  the  gout  his  ancles  fetters. 
In  vain   the   burns   cam    down   like 
waters, 

An  acre  braid  ! 
Now  evVy  auld  wife,  greetin,  clatters  : 

'  Tam  Samson 's  dead  ! ' 


X. 

Owre  monie  a  weary  hag  he  limpit, 
An'  ay  the  tither  shot  he  thumpit. 
Till  coward  Death  behint  him  jumpit 

Wi'  deadly  feide ; 
Now  he  proclaims  wi'  tout  o*  trumpet : 

'  Tam  Samson 's  dead  ! ' 


XI. 

When  at  his  heart  he  felt  the  dagger, 
He  reel'd  his  w^onted  bottle-swagger, 
But  yet  he  drew  the  mortal  trigger 

Wi'  weel-aim'd  heed ; 
•Lord,  five!'  he  cry'd,  an'  owre  did 


stagger  — 


Tam  Samson  's  dead  ! 


XII. 


Ilk  hoary  hunter  mourn'd  a  brither ; 
Ilk     sportsman-youth     bemoan'd     a 

father ; 
Yon    auld    gray    stane,    amang    the 
heather, 

Marks  out  his  head ; 
Whare  Burns  has  wrote,  in  rhyming 
blether : 

'  Tam  Samson 's  dead  ! ' 


78 


A  WINTER  NIGHT. 


XIII. 

There  low  he  lies  in  lasting  rest ; 
Perhaps  upon  his  mouldTing  breast 
Some  spitefu"  moorfowl  bigs  her  nest, 

To  hatch  an^  breed : 
Alas!  nae  mair  he  "11  them  molest : 

Tam  Samson  's  dead! 

XIV. 

When  August  winds  the  heather  wave, 
And  sportsmen  wander  by  yon  grave, 
Three  volleys  let  his  memory  crave 

b'  pouther  an'  lead, 
Till  Echo  answers  frae  her  cave  : 

'  Tam  Samson  's  dead! ' 

XV. 

'  Heav'n  rest  his  saul  whare'er  he  be!' 
Is  th'  wish  o'  monie  mae  than  me : 
He  had  twa  fauts,  or  maybe  three, 

Yet  what  remead  ? 
Ae  social,  honest  man  want  we : 

Tam  Samson  's  dead ! 

THE   EPITAPH. 

Tam    Samson's  weel-worn  clay  here 
lies : 

Ye  canting  zealots,  spare  him! 
If  honest  worth  in  Heaven  rise, 

YeUl  mend  or  ye  win  near  him. 

PER   CONTRA. 

Go,  Fame,  an'  canter  like  a  filly 
Thro'  a'  the  streets  an  neuks  o'  Kilhe  ; 
Tell  ev'ry  social  honest  billie 

To  cease  his  grievin  ; 
For  yet  unskaith'd  by  Death's  gleg 
gullie, 

Tam  Samson's  leevin! 


A   WINTER   NIGHT. 

Poor  naked  ror etches,  wheresoe'er  you  are. 
That  bide  the  pelting  of  this  pitvless  storm  ! 
How  shall  your  houseless  heads  and  unfed 
sides. 


Your  loop'd  and  window  d ragged?iess ,  defend 

you 
From  seasons  such  as  these  ? 

—  Shakespeare. 

[" '  This  poem,'  says  my  friend  Thomas 
Carlyle, '  is  worth  several  homilies  on  mercy, 
for  it  is  the  voice  of  Mercy  herself.' "  — 
Allan  Cunningham.] 

I. 

When  biting  Boreas,  fell  and  doure, 
Sharp  shivers  thro*  the  leafless  bow'r ; 
When    Phoebus    gies    a    short-liv'd 
glow'r, 

Far  south  the  lift, 
Dim-dark'ning  thro'  the  flaky  show'r 

Or  whirling  drift : 

II. 

Ae    night    the    storm    the    steeples 

rocked ; 
Poor    Labour    sweet    in    sleep    was 

locked ; 
While  burns,  wi'  snawy  wreaths  up- 
choked, 

Wild-eddying  swirl. 
Or,  thro'  the  mining  outlet  bocked, 
Down  headlong  hurl : 

III. 

List'ning    the    doors    an'    winnocks 

rattle, 
I  thought  me  on  the  ourie  cattle. 
Or  silly  sheep,  wha  bide  this  brattle 

O'  winter  war. 
And     thro     the     drift,    deep-lairing, 
sprattle 

Beneath  a  scaur. 

i\7. 

Ilk     happing     bird  —  wee,     helpless 

thing !  — 
That  in  the  merry  months  o'  spring 
Delighted  me  to  hear  thee  sing. 

What  comes  o'  thee  ? 
Whare  wilt  thou  cow'r  thy  chittering 
wing. 

An'  close  thy  e'e? 


A   WINTER  NIGHT. 


79 


Ev'n  you,  on  murcrring  errands  toiPd, 
Lone  from  your  savage  homes  exird, 
The    blood-stain'd   roost  and  sheep- 
cote  spoiPd 

My  heart  forgets, 
While  pityless  the  tempest  wild 

Sore  on  you  beats! 


VI. 

Now  Phoebe,  in  her  midnight  reign, 
Dark-mufti'd,  viewM  the  dreary  plain  ; 
Still    crowding   thoughts,   a   pensive 
train, 

Rose  in  my  soul, 
When  on  my  ear  this  plaintive  strain, 
Slow-solemn,  stole :  — 

VII. 

'Blow,  blow,  ye  winds,  with  heavier 

gust! 
And  freeze,  thou  bitter-biting  frost! 
Descend,  ye  chilly,  smothering  snows! 
Not   all   your   rage,    as    now   united, 
shows 
More  hard  unkindness  unrelenting. 
Vengeful  malice,  unrepenting. 
Than  heaven-illumin'd  Man  on  brother 
Man  bestows! 
See  stern  Oppression's  iron  grip. 
Or  mad  Ambition's  gory  hand. 
Sending,   like    blood-hounds   from 
the  slip. 
Woe,  Want,  and  Murder  o'er  a 
land! 
Ev'n  in  the  peaceful  rural  vale, 
Truth,  w^eeping,  tells  the  mournful 
tale : 
How  pamper'd    Luxury,    Flatt'ry   by 
her  side. 
The  parasite  empoisoning  her  ear. 
With  all  the  servile  wretches  in  the 
rear. 
Looks  o'er  proud  Property,  extended 
w'ide ; 
And  eyes  the  simple,  rustic  hind. 
Whose  toil  upholds  the  glitt'ring 
show  — 


A  creature  of  another  kind. 
Some  coarser  substance,  unrefin'd — 
Plac'd  for  her  lordly  use,  thus  far,  thus 
vile,  below! 
Where,  where  is  Love's  fond,  ten- 
der throe. 
With  lordly  Honor's  lofty  brow. 
The  pow'rs  you  proudly  own  ? 
Is    there,    beneath    Love's     noble 

name. 
Can  harbour,  dark,  the  selfish  aim. 

To  bless  himself  alone? 
Mark  Maiden-Innocence  a  prey 

To  love-pretending  snares  : 
This  boasted  Honor  turns  away, 
Shunning  soft  Pity's  rising  sway, 
Regardless  of  the  tears  and  unavail- 
ing pray'rs! 
Perhaps    this     hour,    in    Misery's 

squalid  nest, 
She  strains  your  infant  to  her  joy- 
less breast. 
And  with  a  mother's  fears  shrinks  at 
the  rockincr  blast! 


VIII. 

'O  ye!  who,  sunk  in  beds  of  down. 
Feel  not  a  want  but  what  your- 
selves create. 
Think,    for    a    moment,    on    his 
wretched  fate. 
Whom    friends   and  fortune    quite 
disown  ! 
Ill-satisfy'd  keen  nature's  clam"- 
rous  call, 
Stretch'd  on  his  straw,  he  lays  him- 
self to  sleep  ; 
While  through   the  ragged  roof  and 
chinky  wall. 
Chill,  o'er  his  slumbers  piles  the 

drifty  heap! 
Think   on    the    dungeon's    grim 

confine, 
Where  Guilt  and  poor  Misfortune 

pine! 
Guilt,  erring  man,  relenting  view! 
But  shall  thy  legal  rage  pursue 
The  wretch,  already  cmshed  low- 
By  cruel  Fortune's  undeserved  blow  ? 


So 


PRAYER:  O  THOU  DREAD  POWER. 


Affliction's  sons  are  brothers  in  dis- 
tress ; 

A  brother  to  relieve,  how  exquisite 
the  bliss ! ' 

IX. 

I  heard  nae  mair,  for  Chanticleer 
Shook  off  the  pouthery  snaw, 

And  haiPd  the  morning  with  a  cheer, 
A  cottage-rousing  craw. 

But  deep  this  truth  impress'd  my 
mind : 

Thro'  all  His  works  abroad. 
The  heart  benevolent  and  kind 

The  most  resembles  God. 


STANZAS  WRITTEN  IN  PROS- 
PECT  OF   DEATH. 

[These  verses  the  poet,  in  his  "  Common- 
Place  Book,"  calls  "  Misgivings  in  the  Hour 
of  Despondency  and  Prospect  of  Death."] 

I. 

Why  am  I  loth  to  leave  this  earthly 
scene? 
Have  I  so  found  it  full  of  pleasing 
charms  ? 
Some  drops  of  joy  with  draughts  of  ill 
between ; 
Some  gleams  of  sunshine  mid  re- 
newing storms. 
Is  it  departing  pangs  my  soul  alarms  ? 
Or  death's  unlovely,   dreary,  dark 
abode  ? 
For  guilt,  for  guilt,  my  terrors  are  in 
arms  : 
I    tremble   to    approach    an   angry 
God, 
And  justly   smart    beneath   his   sin- 


avenging  rod. 


II. 


Fain  would  I  say :  '  Forgive  my  foul 
offence,' 
Fain  promise  never   more  to  dis- 
obey. 


But  should  my  Author  health  again 
dispense. 
Again  I  might  desert  fair  virtue's 
way ; 
Again  in  folly's  path  might  go  astray  ; 
Again  exalt  the  brute  and  sink  the 
man : 
Then    how    should    I    for   heavenly 
mercy  pray, 
Who    act     so     counter     heavenly 
mercy's  plan? 
Who  sin  so  oft  have  mourn'd  yet  to 
temptation  ran? 

III. 

O  Thou  great   Governor  of  all   be- 
low !  — 
If  I  may  dare  a  lifted  eye  to  Thee, — 
Thy  nod  can  make  the  tempest  cease 
to  blow, 
Or  still  the  tumult  of  the  raging 
sea: 
With  that  controlling  pow'r  assist  ev'n 
me 
Those  headlong  furious  passions  to 
confine. 
For  all  unfit  I  feel  my  powers  to  be 
To  rule  their  torrent  in  th'  allowed 
line : 
O,  aid  me  with  Thy  help,  Omnipo- 
tence Divine ! 


PRAYER:  O  THOU  DREAD 
POWER. 

Lying  at  a  reveretid  friend' s  house  one  night 
the  author  left  the  following  verses  in  the 
room  where  he  slept. 

[The  "  reverend  friend  "  was  Dr.  Laurie, 
then  minister  of  Loudoun,  at  whose  house 
Burns  first  heard  the  spinnet  played.] 

I. 

O  Thou  dread  Power,  who  reign's': 
above, 

I  know  Thou  wilt  me  hear. 
When  for  this  scene  of  peace  and  love 

I  make  my  prayer  sincere. 


PRAYER   UNDER  THE   PRESSURE   OF  VIOLENT   ANGUISH. 


81 


II. 

The  hoary  Sire  —  the  mortal  stroke, 
Long,  long  be  pleas'd  to  spare : 

To  bless  his  little  filial  flock, 
And  show  what  good  men  are. 

III. 

She,  who  her  lovely  offspring  eyes 
With  tender  hopes  and  fears  — 

O.  bless  her  with  a  mother's  joys, 
But  spare  a  mother's  tears! 

IV. 

Their  hope,  their  stay,  their  darling 
youth, 
In  manhood's  dawning  blush, 
Bless   him.  Thou  God  of  love   and 
truth, 
Up  to  a  parent's  wish. 

V. 

The  beauteous,  seraph  sister-band  — 
With  earnest  tears  I  pray  — 

Thou   know'st   the   snares  on  every 
hand, 
Guide  Thou  their  steps  alway. 

VI. 

When,  soon  or  late,  they  reach  that 
coast, 

O'er  Life's  rough  ocean  driven. 
May  they  rejoice,  no  wand'rer  lost, 

A  familv  in  Heaven! 


PARAPHRASE  OF  THE  FIRST 
PSALM. 

[This  is  of  the  Irvine  period,  when,  as 
Burns  wrote  to  his  father,  "  My  only  pleas- 
urable enjoyment  is  looking  backwards 
and  forwards  in  -a  moral  and  religious 
way."] 

I. 

The  man,  in  life  wherever  plac'd, 

Hath  happiness  in  store. 
Who  walks  not  in  the  wicked's  way 

Nor  learns  their  guilty  lore ; 


II. 


Nor  from  the  seat  of  scornful  pride 
Casts  forth  his  eyes  abroad. 

But  with  humility  and  awe 
Still  walks  before  his  God  ! 


in. 


That  man  shall  flourish  like  the  trees, 
Which  by  the  streamlets  grow  : 

The  fruitful  top  is  spread  on  high. 
And  firm  the  root  below. 


IV. 


But  he,  whose  blossom  buds  in  guilt. 
Shall  to  the  ground  be  cast, 

And,  like  the  rootless  stubble,  tost 
Before  the  sweeping  blast. 


For  why?  that  God  the  good  adore 
Hath  giv'n  them  peace  and  rest. 

But  hath  decreed  that  wicked  men 
Shall  ne'er  be  trulv  blest. 


PRAYER  UNDER  THE  PRESS- 
URE OF  VIOLENT  ANGUISH. 

[Of  this  poem  Burns  says  :  "  There  was 
a  certain  period  of  life  that  my  spirit  was 
broke  by  repeated  losses  and  disasters.  In 
this  wretched  state  I  hung  my  harp  on  the 
willow-trees  except  in  some  lucid  intervals, 
in  one  of  which  I  composed  the  following."] 


O  Thou  Great  Being!  what  Thou  art 

Surpasses  me  to  know  ; 
Yet  sure  I  am,  that  known  to  Thee 

Are  all  Thy  works  below. 

II. 

Thy  creature  here  before  Thee  stands. 
All  wretched  and  distrest ; 

Yet  sure  those  ills  that  wring  my  soul 
Obey  Thy  high  behest. 


82 


TO  MISS   LOGAN. 


III. 


Sure  Thou,  Almighty,  canst  not  act 

from  cruelty  or  wrath ! 
O,  free  my  weary  eyes  from  tears, 

Or  close  them  fast  in  death ! 


IV. 


But,  if  I  must  afflicted  be 
To  suit  some  wise  design, 

Then  man  my  soul  with  firm  resolves 
To  bear  and  not  repine  ! 


THE   NINETIETH    PSALM 
VERSIFIED. 

[This  piece  is  of  the  same  period  as  the 
preceding.] 


O  Thou,  the  first,  the  greatest  friend 

Of  all  the  human  race  ! 
Whose  strong  right    hand  has  ever 
been 

Their  stay  and  dwelling  place  ! 


II. 

Before   the   mountains    heav'd    their 
heads 

Beneath  Thy  forming  hand, 
Before  this  ponderous  globe  itself 

Arose  at  Thy  command  : 


III. 

That   Power,  which   raised  and  still 
upholds 

This  universal  frame. 
From  countless,  unbeginning  time 

Was  ever  still  the  same. 


IV. 

Those  mighty  periods  of  years, 
Which  seem  to  us  so  vast. 

Appear  no  more  before  Thy  sight 
Than  yesterday  that  ""s  past. 


Thou  giv'st  the  word :  Thy  creature- 
man. 

Is  to  existence  brought ; 
Again  Thou  say'st :  '  Ye  sons  of  men, 

Return  ye  into  nought-! ' 


VI. 

Thou  layest  them,  with  all  their  cares, 

In  everlasting  sleep ; 
As  with  a  flood  Thou  tak'st  them  off 

With  overwhelming  sweep. 

VII. 

They  flourish  like  the  morning  flower 

In  beauty's  pride  array'd. 
But  long  ere  night,  cut  down,  it  lies 

All  withe^M  and  decay'd. 


TO   MISS    LOGAN. 

WITH   BEATTIE'S    poems   FOR   A   NEW 
year's   gift,    JANUARY    I,    1 787. 

[The    sister    of   Major    Logan,    whom 
Burns  had  already  celebrated.] 

I. 

Again  the  silent  wheels  of  time 
Their  annual  round  have  driv'n. 

And  you,  tho'  scarce  in  maiden  prime, 
Are  so  much  nearer  Heav'n. 


II. 

No  gifts  have  I  from  Indian  coasts 

The  infant  year  to  hail ; 
I  send  you  more  than  India  boasts 

In  Edwin's  simple  tale. 

III. 

Our  sex  with  guile,  and  faithless  love, 
Is  charg'd  —  perhaps  too  true  ; 

But  may,  dear  maid,  each  lover  prove 
An  Edwin  still  to  you. 


ADDRESS  TO  A   HAGGIS.  — ADDRESS   TO   EDINBURGH. 


83 


ADDRESS   TO    A    HAGGIS. 

["  It  has  been  stated  that,  being  present 
at  a  party  where  a  haggis  was  on  the  table, 
and  being  asked  to  say  something  appro- 
priate on  the  occasion,  Burns  produced  the 
following  stanza  by  way  of  grace.  Being 
well  received  he  was  induced  to  expand  it 
into  his  address  '  To  a  Haggis,'  retaining 
the  verse  in  an  altered  form  as  a  perora- 
tion." —  Wallace  Chambers. 

Ye  Powers  wha  gie  us  a'  that 's  guid, 

Still  bless  auld  Caledonia's  brood 

Wi"  great  John  Barleycorn's  heart's  bluid 

In  stoups  or  luggies; 
And  on  our  board  the  king  o'  food, 

A  glorious  haggis ! 
"  It  is  usual  to  have  this  Scotch  dish  at 
the  anniversary  celebrations  of  the  poet's 
birth,  and  a  very  savory  viand  it  is,  although 
unsafe  to  eat  much  of."] 

I. 

Fair  fa'  your  honest,  sonsie  face, 
Great  chieftain  o'  the  puddin-race! 
Aboon  them  a'  ye  tak  your  place, 

Painch,  tripe,  or  thairm  : 
Weel  are  ye  wordy  of  a  grace 

As  lang's  my  arm. 

II. 

The  groaning  trencher  there  ye  fill, 
Your  hurdies  like  a  distant  hill. 
Your  pin  wad  help  to  mend  a  mill 

In  time  o'  need. 
While  thro'  your  pores  the  dews  distil 

Like  amber  bead. 


III. 

His  knife  see  rustic  Labour  dight, 
An'  cut  ye  up  wi'  ready  slight, 
Trenching     your 
bright. 

Like  onie  ditch ; 
And  then,  O  what  a  glorious  sight, 

Warm-reekin,  rich ! 

IV. 

Then,  horn  for  horn,  they  stretch  an' 

strive  : 
Deil  tak  the  hindmost,  on  they  drive, 


gushing     entrails 


Till  a'  their  weel-swall'd  kytes  belyve 
Are  bent  like  drums ; 

Then  auld  Guidman,  maist  like  to  rive, 
'  Bethankit! '  hums. 


Is  there  that  ovvre  his  French  ragout^ 
Or  olio  that  wad  staw  a  sow. 
Ox  fricassee  wad  mak  her  spew 

Wi'  perfect  sconner. 
Looks  down  wi'  sneering,  scornfu'  view 

On  sic  a  dinner.? 


VI. 

Poor  devil!  see  him  owre  his  trash. 

As  feckless  as  a  withered  rash, 

His  spindle  shank  a  guid  whip-lash, 

His  nieve  a  nit ; 
Thro'  bluidy  flood  or  field  to  dash, 

O  how  unfit! 


VII. 

But  mark  the  Rustic,  haggis-fed. 
The   trembling    earth    resounds   his 

tread. 
Clap  in  his  walie  nieve  a  blade, 

He  '11  make  it  whissle  ; 
An'  legs,  an'  arms,  an'  heads  will  sned 

Like  taps  0'  thrissle. 


VIII. 

Ye   Pow'rs   wha  mak  mankind  your 

care. 
And  dish  them  out  their  bill  o'  fare, 
Auld    Scotland    wants    nae    skinking 
ware, 

That  jaups  in  luggies  ; 
But,  if  ye  wish  her  gratefu'  prayer, 
Gie  her  a  Haggis ! 


ADDRESS    TO    EDINBURGH. 

[Burns  enclosed  this  poem,  with  another 
piece  unnamed,  to  Mr.  William  Chalmers, 
writer,  Ayr,  as  early  as  27th  December,  1786, 


84 


ADDRESS   TO   EDINBURGH. 


thus  showing  the  rapidity  3vith  which  he  had 
composed  it.] 

I. 

Edina!  Scotia's  darling  seat! 

All  hail  thy  palaces  and  tow'rs, 
Where  once,  beneath  a  Monarch's  feet, 

Sat  Legislation's  sov'reign  pow'rs  : 

From      marking      wiMly-scatt'red 
flow'rs, 
As  on  the  banks  of  Ayr  I  stray'd 

And    singing,   lone,   the    ling'ring 
hours, 
I  shelter  in  thy  honor'd  shade. 


II. 

Here  Wealth  still  swells  the  golden 
tide, 

As  busy  Trade  his  labours  plies ; 
There  Architecture's  noble  pride 

Bids  elegance  and  splendour  rise  : 

Here  Justice,  from  her  native  skies. 
High  wields  her  balance  and  her  rod  ; 

There  Learning,  with  his  eagle  eyes. 
Seeks  Science  in  her  coy  abode. 

III. 

Thy  sons,  Edina,  social,  kind. 

With  open  arms  the  stranger  hail ; 
Their    views    enlarg'd,    their    lib'ral 
mind, 

Above  the  narrow,  rural  vale  ; 

Attentive  still  to  Sorrow's  wail, 
Or  modest  Merit's  silent  claim  : 

And  never  may  their  sources  fail ! 
And  never  Envy  blot  their  name! 

IV. 

Thy  daughters  bright  thy  walks  adorn. 

Gay  as  the  gilded  summer  sky, 
Sweet  as  the  dewy>  milk-white  thorn, 

Dear  as  the  raptur'd  thrill  of  joy  ! 

Fair  Burnet  strikes  th'  adoring  eye, 
Heav'n's  beauties  on  my  fancy  shine : 

I  see  the  Sire  of  Love  on  high, 
And  own  His  work  indeed  divine  ! 


V. 

There,  watching  high  the  least  alarms, 

Thy   rough,    rude   fortress  gleams 
afar; 
Like  some  bold  vet'ran,  grey  in  arms. 

And   mark'd  with   many  a  seamy 
scar; 

The  pond'rous  wall  and  massy  bar, 
Grim-rising  o'er  the  rugged  rock. 

Have  oft  withstood  assailing  war. 
And  oft  repell'd  th'  invader's  shock. 

VI. 

With  awe-struck  thought  and  pitying 
tears. 
I  view  that  noble,  stately  dome, 
Where  Scotia's  kings  of  other  years, 
Fam'd    heroes !     had    their    royal 

home : 
Alas,   how   chang'd   the   times   to 
come! 
Their  royal  name  low  in  the  dust ! 
Their  hapless  race  wild-wand'ring 
roam  ! 
Tho'  rigid  Law  cries  out :  '  'T  was  just.' 

VII. 

Wild  beats  my  heart   to  trace  your 
steps. 

Whose  ancestors,  in  days  of  yore, 
Thro'  hostile  ranks  and  ruin'd  gaps 

Old  Scotia's  bloody  lion  bore : 

Ev'n  I,  who  sing  in  rustic  lore. 
Haply  my  sires  have  left  their  shed. 

And   fac'd   grim  Danger's  loudest 
roar, 
Bold-following  where  your  fathers  led 

VIII. 

Edina  !  Scotia's  darling  seat! 

All  hail  thy  palaces  and  tow'rs  ; 
Where  once,  beneath  a  Monarch's  feet 

Sat  Legislation's  sov'reign  pow'rs  . 

From       marking      wildly-scatt'red 
flow'rs. 
As  on  the  banks  of  Ayr  I  stray'd 

And    singing,   lone,   the    ling'ring 
hours, 
I  shelter  in  thy  honour'd  shade. 


JOHN   BARLEYCORN. 


SONGS. 


JOHN   BARLEYCORN. 

A  Ballad. 

[Composed  on  the  plan  of  an  old  song, 
of  which  David  Laing  has  given  an  authen- 
tic version  in  his  very  curious  volume  of 
'*  Metrical  Tales."] 

I. 

There  was  three  kings  into  the  east, 
Three  kings  bdth  great  and  high, 

And  they  hae  sworn  a  solemn  oath 
John  13arleycorn  should  die. 


II. 

They  took  a  plough  and  ploughM  him 
down. 

Put  clods  upon  his  head, 
And  they  hae  sworn  a  solemn  oath 

John  Barleycorn  w^as  dead. 


III. 

But  the  c/ieerful  Spring  came  kindly 
on, 

And  show'rs  began  to  fall ; 
John  Barleycorn  got  up  again, 

And  sore  surpris'd  them  all. 


IV. 

The  sultry  suns  of  Summer  came, 
And  he  grew  thick  and  strong  : 

His    head   weel    arm'd   wi'    pointed 
spears. 
That  no  one  should  him  wrong. 


V. 

The  sober  Autumn  enter'd  mild, 
When  he  grew  wan  and  pale  ; 

His  bending  joints  and  drooping  head 
Show'd  he  began  to  fail. 


VI. 


His  colour  sicken'd  more  and  more, 

He  faded  into  age  ; 
And  then  his  enemies  began 

To  show  their  deadly  rage. 


vn. 


long   and 


They've  taen  a  weapon 
sharp, 

And  cut  him  by  the  knee ; 
Then  ty'd  him  fast  upon  a  cart, 

Like  a  rogue  for  forgerie. 

VIII. 

They  laid  him  down  upon  his  back. 
And  cudgeird  him  full  sore. 

They  hung  him  up  before  the  storm, 
And  turn'd  him  o'er  and  o'er. 

IX. 

They  filled  up  a  darksome  pit 

With  water  to  the  brim. 
They  heaved  in  John  Barleycorn  — 

There,  let  him  sink  or  swim  ! 

X. 

They  laid  him  out  upon  the  floor. 
To  work  him  farther  woe  : 

And  still,  as  signs  of  life  appear'd. 
They  toss'd  him  to  and  fro. 

XI. 

They  wasted  o'er  a  scorching  flame 
The  marrow  of  his  bones  ; 

But  a  miller  us"d  him  worst  of  all. 
For  he  crush "d  him  between  two 
stones. 

XII. 

And  they  hae  taen  his  very  heart's 
blood. 
And  drank  it  round  and  round ; 


86 


A   FRAGMENT:    WHEN   GUILFORD    GOOD. 


And   still    the   more  and  more  they 
drank, 
Their  joy  did  more  abound. 


XIII. 


John  Barleycorn  was  a  hero  bold, 

Of  noble  enterprise ; 
For  if  you  do  but  taste  his  blood, 

'T  will  make  your  courage  rise. 

xrv. 

'T  will  make  a  man  forget  his  woe  ; 

'T  will  heighten  all  his  joy  : 
'T  will  make  the  widow's  heart  to  sing, 

Tho'  the  tear  were  in  her  eye. 

XV. 

Then  let  us  toast  John  Barleycorn, 
Each  man  a  glass  in  hand ; 

And  may  his  great  posterity 
Ne'er  fail  in  old  Scotland  ! 


A   FRAGMENT:    WHEN   GUIL- 
P^ORD   GOOD. 

Tune:   Gillicrankie. 

[First  published  in  the  Edinburgh  edi- 
tion of  1787,  after  consulting  the  Earl  of 
Glencairn  and  Henry  Erskine.] 


When  Guilford  good  our  pilot  stood, 

An'  did  our  hellim  thraw,  man ; 
Ae  night,  at  tea,  began  a  plea, 

Within  Americk,  man  : 
Then  up  they  gat  the  maskin-pat. 

And  in  the  sea  did  jaw,  man  ; 
An'  did  nae  less,  in  full  Congress, 

Than  quite  refuse  our  law,  man. 

II. 

Then   thro'   the    lakes    Montgomery 
takes, 

I  wat  he  was  na  slaw,  man  ; 
Down  Lowrie's  Burn  he  took  a  turn, 

And  Carleton  did  ca',  man  : 


But  yet,  whatreck,  he  at  Quebec 
Montgomery-like  did  fa',  man, 

Wi'  sword  in  hand,  before  his  band, 
Amang  his  en'mies  a',  man. 


III. 

Poor  Tammy  Gage  within  a  cage 

Was  kept  at  Boston-ha',  man  ; 
Till  Willie  Howe  took  o'er  the  knowe 

For  Philadelphia,  man ; 
Wi'  sword  an'  gun  he  thought  a  sin 

Guid  Christian  bluid  to  draw,  man  ; 
But  at  New-York  wi'  knife  an'  fork 

Sir-Loin  he  hacked  sma',  man. 


IV. 

Burgoyne  gaed  up,  like  spur  an'  whip, 

Till  Fraser  brave  did  fa',  man  ; 
Then  lost  his  way,  ae  misty  day, 

In  Saratoga  shaw,  man. 
Cornwallis  fought  as  lang  's  he  dough t, 

An'  did  the  buckskins  claw,  man ; 
But  Clinton's  glaive  frae  rust  to  save. 

He  hung  it  to  the  wa',  man. 


V. 

Then  Montague,  an'  Guilford  too. 

Began  to  fear  a  fa',  man  ; 
And  Sackville  doure,  wha  stood  the 
stoure 

The  German  chief  to  thraw,  man : 
For  Paddy  Burke,  like  onie  Turk, 

Nae  mercy  had  at  a',  man ; 
An'  Charlie  Fox  threw  by  the  box. 

An'  lows'd  his  tinkler  jaw,  man. 

VI. 

Then  Rockingham  took  up  the  game. 

Till  death  did  on  him  ca',  man ; 
When  Shelburne  meek   held  up  his 
cheek, 

Conform  to  gospel  law,  man  : 
Saint  Stephen's  boys,  wi' jarring  noise, 

They  did  his  measures  thraw,  man  ; 
For  North  an'  Fox  tmited  stocks. 

An'  bore  him  to  the  wa',  man. 


MY   NAN  IE,   O. 


VII. 

Then  clubs  an'  hearts  were  Charlie's 
cartes 

He  swept  the  stakes  awa\  man. 
Till  the  diamoncrs  ace,  of  Indian  race, 

Led  him  a  SRir /au.v pas,  man  : 
The  Saxon  lads,  wi'  loud  placads, 

On  Chatham's  boy  did  ca',  man  ; 
An'  Scotland  drew  her  pipe  an'  blew  : 

*Up,  Willie,  waur  them  a',  man! ' 

VIII. 

Behind  the  throne   then   Granville's 
gone, 
A  secret  word  or  twa,  man  ; 
While  slee  Dundas  arous'd  the  class 

Be-north  the  Roman  w^a',  man  : 
An'    Chatham's   wraith,    in    heav'nly 
graith 
(Inspired  bardies  saw,  man), 
Wi'   kindling    eyes,   cry'd :    '  Willie, 

rise! 
Would  I  hae  fear'd  them  a',  man  ? ' 

IX. 

But,  w^ord  an'  blow.  North,  Fox,  and 
Co. 

GowfF'd  Willie  like  a  ba',  man. 
Till  Suthron  raise  an'  coost  their  claise 

Behind  him  in  a  raw,  man  : 
An'  Caledon  threw  by  the  drone, 

An'  did  her  whittle  draw,  man ; 
An'  swoor  fu'  rude,  thro'  dirt  an'  bluid. 

To  mak  it  guid  in  law,  man. 


MY   NANIE,   O. 

[According  to  Gilbert  Burns  the  heroine 
was  Agnes  Fleming.  On  the  other  hand, 
Mrs.  Begg  asserts  that  it  was  written  in 
honor  of  Peggy  Thomson  of  Kirkoswald.] 


Behind  yon  hills  wdiere  Lugar  flows 
'iVIang  moors  an'  mosses  many,  O, 

The  wintry  sun  the  day  has  clos'd. 
And  I  '11  awa  to  Nanie,  O. 


II. 


The  westlin  wind  blaws  loud  an'  shill, 
The  night's  baith  mirk  and  rainy,  O ; 

But  I  '11  get  my  plaid,  an'  out  I  '11  steal, 
An'  owre  the  hill  to  Nanie,  O. 


III. 


My  Nanie 's  charming,  sweet, 
young ; 

Nae  artfu'  wiles  to  win  ye,  O  : 
May  ill  befa'  the  flattering  tongue 

That  wad  beguile  my  Nanie,  O ! 


an' 


IV. 


Her  face  is  fair,  her  heart  is  true  ;  - 
As  spotless  as  she  's  bonie,  O,    ' 

The  opening  gowan,  wat  wi'  dew, 
Nae  purer  is  than  Nanie,  O. 


A  country  lad  is  my  degree,  ^ 

An'  few  there  be  that  ken  me,  O ; 

But  what  care  I  how  few  they  be? 
I  'm  welcome  ay  to  Nanie,  O. 

VI. 

My  riches  a 's  my  penny-fee, 
An'  I  maun  guide  it  cannie,  O ; 

But  warl's  gear  ne'er  troubles  me. 
My  thoughts  are  a'  —  my  Nanie,  O. 

VII. 

Our  auld  guidman  delights  to  view 
His  sheep  an'  kye  thrive  bonie,  O  ; 

But    I  'm    as   blythe   that    hands    his 
pleugh, 
An'  has  nae  care  but  Nanie,  O. 

VIII. 

Come  weel,  come  woe,  I  care  na  by ; 

I  '11  tak  what  Heav'n  will  send  me,  O  : 
Nae  ither  care  in  life  have  I, 

But  live,  an'  love  my  Nanie,  O. 


88 


GREEN  GROW  THE  RASHES,  O.  — COMPOSED  IN  SPRING. 


GREEN  GROW  THE  RASHES,  O. 

[This  little  masterpiece  of  wit  and  gayety 
and  movement  was  suggested  either  by  the 
fragment  "  Green  grow  the  Rashes,  O  "  in 
Herd's  "  Ancient  and  Modern  Scottish 
Songs,"  or  by  the  coarse  old  song  itself.] 


Chorus. 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O ; 
Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  ; 
The  sweetest  hours  that  e'er  I  spend, 
Are  spent  among  the  lasses,  O. 


I. 

There's  nought  but  care  on  ev'ry 
han\ 

In  every  hour  that  passes,  O  : 
What  signifies  the  life  o'  man. 

An'  't  were  na  for  the  lasses,  O. 


II. 

The  war'ly  race  may  riches  chase, 
An'  riches  still  may  fly  them,  O ; 

An'  tho'  at  last  they  catch  them  fast, 
Their  hearts  can  ne'er  enjoy  them,  O. 


III. 

But  gie  me  a  cannie  hour  at  e'en, 
My  arms  about  my  dearie,  O, 

An'  war'ly  cares  an'  war'ly  men 
May  a'  gae  tapsalteerie,  O! 


IV. 

For  you  sae  douce,  ye  sneer  at  this ; 

Ye  're  nought  but  senseless  asses,  O 
The  w'isest  man  the  warl'  e'er  saw, 

He  dearly  lov'd  the  lasses,  O. 


Auld  Nature  swears,  the  lovely  dears 
Her  noblest  work  she  classes,  O  : 

Her  prentice  han'  she  try'd  on  man. 
An'  then  she  made  the  lasses,  O. 


Chonis. 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  ; 
Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  ; 
The  sweetest  hours  that  e'er  I  spend. 
Are  spent  among  the  lasses,  O. 


COMPOSED   IN   SPRING 

Tune  :  Johnny  s  Grey  Breeks. 

["  Menie  is  the  common  abbreviation  o. 
Marianne.  The  chorus  is  part  of  a  song 
composed  by  a  gentleman  in  Edinburgh,  a 
particular  friend  of  the  author's."  —  R.  B.] 


Again  rejoicing  Nature  sees 

Her  robe  assume  its  vernal  hues  : 

Her  leafy  locks  wave  in  the  breeze. 
All  freshly  steep'd  in  morning  dews. 

Chorus. 

And  maun  I  still  on  Menie  doat, 
And  bear  the  scorn  that 's  in  her  e'e  ? 

For  it's  jet,  jet-black,  an'  it's  like  a 
hawk. 
An'  it  winna  let  a  body  be. 

II. 

In  vain  to  me  the  cowslips  blaw, 
In  vain  to  me  the  vi'lets  spring ; 

In  vain  to  me  in  glen  or  shaw, 
The  mavis  and  the  lintwhite  sing. 


III. 

The  merry  ploughboy  cheers  his  team, 
Wi'  joy  the  tentie  seedsman  stalks  \ 

But  life  to  me  's  a  weary  dream, 
A  dream  of  ane  that  never  wauks. 


IV. 

The  wanton  coot  the  water  skims, 
Amang  the  reeds  the  ducklings  cry, 

The  stately  swan  majestic  swims. 
And  ev'ry  thing  is  blest  but  I. 


THE   GLOOMY   NIGHT.  — NO   CHURCHMAN   AM   I. 


89 


V. 

The  sheep-herd  steeks   his  faulding 
slap, 
And   o'er   the  moorlands  whistles 
shill ; 
Wi'  wild,  unequal,  wandering  step, 
I  meet  him  on  the  dewy  hill. 

VI. 

And  when  the  lark,  'tween  light  and 
dark, 
Blythe  waukens  by  the  daisy's  side, 
And  mounts  and  sings  on  flittering 
wings, 
A   woe-worn    ghaist    I   hameward 
glide. 

VII. 

Come  winter,  with  thine  angry  howl. 
And  raging,  bend  the  naked  tree ; 

Thy  gloom  will  soothe  my  cheerless 
soul, 
When  nature  all  is  sad  like  me! 

Chorus. 

And  maun  I  still  on  Menie  doat, 
And  bear  the  scorn  that 's  in  her  e'e  ? 

For  it 's  jet,  jet-black,  an'  it 's  like  a 
hawk. 
An'  it  winna  let  a  body  be. 


THE   GLOOMY   NIGHT   IS 
GATHERING   FAST. 

TUNEt  Roslin  Castle. 

["  I  composed  this  song  as  I  conveyed 
my  chest  so  far  on  my  road  to  Greenock, 
where  I  was  to  embark  in  a  few  days  for 
Jamaica.  I  meant  it  as  my  farewell  to  my 
native  land."—  R.  B.] 

I. 

The  gloomy  night  is  gathering  fast, 
Loud  roars  the  wild  inconstant  blast ; 
Yon  murky  cloud  is  filled  with  rain, 
I  see  it  driving  o'er  the  plain ; 


The  hunter  now  has  left  the  moor, 
The  scattVed  coveys  meet  secure ; 
While  here  I  wander,  prest  with  care, 
Along  the  lonely  banks  of  Ayr. 


II. 

The  Autumn  mourns  her  ripening  corn 
By  early  Winter's  ravage  torn  ; 
Across  her  placid,  azure  sky, 
She  sees  the  scowling  tempest  fly; 
Chill  runs  my  blood  to  hear  it  rave : 
I  think  upon  the  stormy  wave. 
Where  many  a  danger  I  must  dare, 
Far  from  the  bonie  banks  of  Ayr. 


III. 

•'T  is  not  the  surging  billows'  roar, 
'T  is  not  that  fatal,  deadly  shore ; 
Tho'  death  in  ev'ry  shape  appear. 
The  wretched  have  no  more  to  fear : 
But  round  my  heart  the  ties  are  bound, 
That  heart  transpierc'd  with  many  a 

wound ; 
These  bleed  afresh,  those  ties  I  tear, 
To  leave  the  bonie  banks  of  Ayr. 


IV. 

Farewell,  old  Coila's  hills  and  dales, 
Her  heathy  moors  and  winding  vales  ; 
The   scenes  where  wretched    Fancy 

roves, 
Pursuing  past  unhappy  loves  ! 
Farewell    my    friends !   farewell    my 

foes  ! 
My  peace  with  these,  my  love  with 

those  — 
The  bursting  tears  my  heart  declare. 
Farewell,  my  bonie  banks  of  Ayr. 


NO   CHURCHMAN   AM   L 

Tune  :  Prepare,  vjy  dear  Brethren. 

[This  is  not  a  happy  production,  al- 
though, doubtless,  it  would  pass  very  well 
among  his  youthful  companions  at  Tarbol- 


90 


NO   CHURCHMAN   AM   I. 


ton,  when  the  table  was  in  a  roar,  after 
a  lodge  meeting."  —  William  Scott 
Douglas.] 

I. 

No  churchman  am  I  for  to  rail  and  to 

write, 
No  statesman  nor  soldier  to  plot  or  to 

fight, 
No  sly  man  ot  business  contriving  a 

snare. 
For  a  big-belly'd  bottle  's  the  whole 

of  my  care. 


II. 

The  peer  I  don't  envy,  I  give  him  his 

bow; 
I  scorn  not  the  peasant,  tho'  ever  so 

low ; 
But  a  club  of  good  fellows,  like  those 

that  are  here. 
And  a  bottle  like  this,  are  my  glory 

and  care. 


III. 

Here  passes  the  squire  on  his  brother 

—  his  horse, 
There  centum  per  centum,  the  cit  with 

his  purse. 
But  see  you  The  Crown,  how  it  waves 

in  the  air? 
There  a  big-belly'd  bottle  still  eases 

my  care. 


IV. 


The  wife  of  my  bosom,  alas  !  she  did 
die; 


For  sweet  consolation  to  church  I  did 

fly; 
I  found  that  old  Solomon  proved  it 

fair. 
That  a  big-belly'd  bottle 's  a  cure  for 

all  care. 


I  once  was  persuaded  a  venture  to 
make ; 

A  letter  informed  me  that  all  was  to 
wreck ; 

But  the  pursy  old  landlord  just  wad- 
dled up  stairs. 

With  a  glorious  bottle  that  ended  my 
cares. 


VI. 

'  Life's  cares  they  are  comforts  ' —  a 

maxim  laid  down 
By  the  Bard,  what  d'  ye  call  him  ?  that 

wore  the  black  gown  ; 
And  faith  I  agree  with  th'  old  prig  to 

a  hair : 
For  a  big-belly'd  bottle 's  a  heav'n  of 

a  care. 


A      STANZA      ADDED      IN      A      MASON 
LODGE. 

Then  fill  up  a  bumper  and  make  it 
overflow, 

And  honours  Masonic  prepare  for  to 
throw : 

May  ev'ry  true  Brother  of  the  Com- 
pass and  Square 

Have  a  big-belly'd  bottle,  when 
harass 'd  with  care  ! 


ODE,   SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MRS.   OSWALD. 


91 


ADDED,    EDINBURGH,    1793. 


WRITTEN   IN   FRIARS    CARSE 
HERiMITAGE,   ON   NITHSIDE. 

[This  is  the  second  version  of  a  piece 
originally  inscribed  on  a  window  pane  of 
Friars  Carse  Hermitage,  in  June,  1788.] 

Thou  whom  chance  may  hither  lead 
Be  thou  clad  in  russet  weed, 
Be  thou  deckt  in  silken  stole, 
Grave  these  counsels  on  thy  soul. 

Life  is  but  a  day  at  most, 
Sprung  from  night, — in  darkness  lost : 
Hope  not  sunshine  ev"ry  hour, 
Fear  not  clouds  will  always  lour. 

As  Youth  and  Love  with  sprightly 
dance 
Beneath  thy  morning  star  advance, 
Pleasure  with  her  siren  air 
May  delude  the  thoughtless  pair : 
Let  Prudence  bless  Enjoyment's  cup, 
Then  raptur'd  sit  and  sip  it  up. 

As  thy  day  grows  warm  and  high, 
Life's  meridian  flaming  nigh, 
Dost  thou  spurn  the  humble  vale? 
Life's   proud   summits  would'st  thou 

scale  ? 
Check  thy  climbing  step,  elate. 
Evils  lurk  in  felon  wait : 
Dangers,  eagle-pinioned,  bold. 
Soar  around  each  cliffy  hold  ; 
While  cheerful  Peace  with  linnet  song 
Chants  the  lowly  dells  among. 

As  the  shades  of  ev'ning  close, 
Beck'ning  thee  to  long  repose  ; 
As  life  itself  becomes  disease. 
Seek  the  chimney-nook  of  ease  : 
There  ruminate  with  sober  thought, 
On  all  thou  'st  seen,  and  heard,  and 

wrought ; 
And    teach    the    sportive     younkers 

round, 
Saws  of  experience,  sage  and  sound : 


Say,  man's  true,  genuine  estimate, 
The  grand  criterion  of  his  fate. 
Is  not.  Art  thou  high  or  low? 
Did  thy  fortune  ebb  or  flow? 
Did  many  talents  gild  thy  span? 
Or  frugal  Nature  gmdge  thee  one? 
Tell  them,  and  press  it  on  their  mind. 
As  thou  thyself  must  shortly  find, 
The  smile  or  frown  of  awful  Heav'n 
To  Virtue  or  to  Vice  is  giv"n ; 
Say,  to  be  just,  and  kind,  and  wise  — 
There  solid  self-enjoyment  lies  ; 
That  foolish,  selfish,  faithless  ways 
Lead  to  be  wretched,  vile,  and  base. 

Thus  resign'd  and  quiet,  creep 
To  the  bed  of  lasting  sleep : 
Sleep,  whence  thou  shall  ne'er  awake. 
Night,  where  dawn  shall  never  break  ; 
Till  future  life,  future  no  more. 
To  light  and  joy  the  good  restore. 
To  light  and  joy  unknown  before. 

Stranger,  go!  Heav'n  be  thy  guide! 
Quod  the  beadsman  of  Nithside. 


ODE,  SACRED  TO  THE  MEM- 
ORY OF  MRS.  OSWALD  OF 
AUCHENCRUIVE. 

[The  subject  of  this  ode  was  the  widow 
of  Richard  Oswald,  Esq.,  of  Auchencruive.l 

Dweller  in  yon  dungeon  dark, 
Hangman  of  creation,  mark ! 
Who  in  widow-weeds  appears, 
Laden  with  unhonoured  years. 
Noosing  with  care  a  bursting  purse, 
Baited  with  many  a  deadly  curse  ? 

STROPHE. 

View  the  wither'd  beldam's  face : 
Can  thy  keen  inspection  trace 
Aught  of  Humanity's  sweet,  melting 

grace  ? 
Note  that  eye,  't  is  rheum  o'erflows  — 


92 


ELEGY   ON   CAPTAIN   MATTHEW  HENDERSON. 


Pity's  flood  there  never  rose. 

See  those  hands,  ne'er  stretched  to 
save, 

Hands  that  took,  but  never  gave. 

Keeper  of  Mammon''s  iron  chest, 

Lo.  there  she  goes,  unpitied  and 
unblest, 

She  goes,  but  not  to  realms  of  ever- 
lasting rest ! 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Plunderer  of  Armies!  lift  thine  eyes 
(A    while    forbear,    ye    torturing 
fiends), 
Seest    thou    whose    step,    unwilling, 

hither  bends  ? 
No  fallen  angel,  hurl'd   from   upper 
skies ! 
'T  is  thy  trusty,  quondam  Mate, 
Doom'd  to  share  thy  fiery  fate : 
She,  tardy,  hell-ward  plies. 

EPODE. 

And  are  they  of  no  more  avail, 
Ten     thousand     glittering     pounds 
a-year  ? 
In  other  worlds  can  Mammon  fail. 
Omnipotent  as  he  is  here  ? 
O  bitter  mockery  of  the  pompous  bier! 
While  down  the  wretched  vital  part 
is  driven. 
The  cave-lodg'd  beggar,  with  a  con- 
science clear. 
Expires  in  rags,  unknown,  and  goes 
to  Heaven. 


ELEGY     ON     CAPTAIN     MAT- 
THEW  HENDERSON. 

A  GENTLEMAN  WHO  HELD  THE  PAT- 
ENT FOR  HIS  HONOURS  IMMEDI- 
ATELY FROM  ALMIGHTY  GOD ! 

But  now  his  radiant  course  is  ruv, 
For  Matthew's  course  was  bright : 

His  soul  was  like  the  glorious  sun 
A  matchless,  Heavenly  light, 

[The  name  of  this  gentleman  is  found  in 
the  list  of  subscribers  to  the  poet's  Edin- 


burgh edition  of  April,  1787.  In  sending  a 
copy  of  it  to  Dr.  Moore,  he  says,  "  The  elegy 
on  Capt.  Henderson  is  a  tribute  to  the  mem- 
ory of  a  man  I  loved  much."] 


O    Death!     thou    tyrant    fell    and 

bloody! 
The  meikle  Devil  wi'  a  woodie 
Haurl  thee  hame  to  his  black  smiddie 

O'er  hurcheon  hides, 
And    like    stock-fish   come   o'er  his 
studdie 

Wi'  thy  auld  sides ! 

II. 

He's   gane,  he's  gane!   he's  frae  us 

torn. 
The  ae  best  fellow  e'er  was  born! 
Thee,   Matthew,   Nature's    sel    shall 
mourn, 

By  wood  and  wild. 
Where,  haply.  Pity  strays  forlorn, 
Frae  man  exil'd. 

III. 

Ye  hills,  near  neebors  o'  the  starns,. 
That    proudly    cock    your    cresting; 

cairns ! 
Ye  cliflfs,  the  haunts  of  sailing  yearns,. 

Where  Echo  slumbers  ! 
Come    join    ye.     Nature's     sturdiest 
bairns. 

My  wailing  numbers  ! 

IV. 

Mourn,  ilka  grove  the  cushat  kens  \ 
Ye  hazly  shaws  and  briery  dens  ! 
Ye  burnies,  wimplin  down  your  glens 

Wi'  toddlin  din. 
Or  foaming,  Strang,  wi'  hasty  stens, 

Frae  lin  to  lin  ! 

V. 

Mourn,  little  harebells  o'er  the  lea ;; 
Ye  stately  foxgloves,  fair  to  see ; 
Ye  woodbines,  hanging  bonilie 
In  scented  bowers ; 


ELEGY   ON   CAPTAIN   MATTHEW   HENDERSON. 


93 


Ye  roses  on  your  thorny  tree, 
The  first  o'  flowers  ! 

VI. 

At  dawn,  when  every  grassy  blade 
Droops  with  a  diamond  at  his  head  ; 
At  ev'n,  when  beans  their  fragrance 
shed 

r  til'  rustling  gale  ; 
Ye   maukins,   whiddin    through    the 
glade ; 

Con^e  join  my  wail ! 

VII. 

Mourn,  ye  wee  songsters  o'  the  wood  ; 
Ye  grouse  that  crap  the  heather  bud  ; 
Ye  curlews,  calling  thro'  a  clud ; 

Ye  whistling  plover ; 
And    mourn,    ye    whirring    paitrick 
brood : 

He  's  gane  for  ever  ! 

VIII. 

Mourn,    sooty    coots,    and    speckled 

teals  ; 
Ye  fisher  herons,  watching  eels  ; 
Ye  duck  and  drake,  wi'  airy  wheels 

Circling  the  lake ; 
Ye  bitterns,  till  the  quagmire  reels, 

Rair  for  his  sake  ! 

IX. 

Mourn,  clam'ring  craiks,  at  close  o' 

day, 
'Mang  fields  o'  flowVing  clover  gay  ! 
And  when  you  wing  your  annual  way 

Frae  our  cauld  shore. 
Tell  thae  far  warlds  wha  lies  in  clay. 

Wham  we  deplore. 

X. 

Ye  houlets,  frae  your  ivy  bower 

In  some  auld  tree,  or  eldritch  tower. 

What  time  the  moon,  wi'  silent  glowr. 

Sets  up  her  horn, 
Wail  thro'  the  dreary  midnight  hour 

Till  waukrife  morn  ! 


XI. 

O  rivers,  forests,  hills,  and  plains  ! 
Oft  have  ye  heard  my  canty  strains : 
But  now,  what  else  for  me  remains 

*  But  tales  of  woe  ? 
And  frae  my  een  the  drapping  rains 
Maun  ever  flow. 


XII. 

Mourn,  Spring,  thou  darling  of  the 

year  ! 
Ilk  cow^slip  cup  shall  kep  a  tear : 
Thou,    Simmer,    while    each    corny 
spear 

Shoots  up  its  head, 
Thy  gay,  green,  flowery  tresses  shear 
For  him  that 's  dead  ! 


XIIT. 

Thou,  Autumn,  wi'  thy  yellow  hair, 
In  grief  thy  sallow  mantle  tear  ! 
Thou,  Winter,  hurling  thro'  the  air 

The  roaring  blast. 
Wide  o'er  the  naked  world  declare 

The  worth  we  've  lost ! 


xrv. 

Mourn  him,  thou   Sun,  great  source 

of  light  ! 
Mourn,  Empress  of  the  silent  night  ! 
And  you,  ye  twinkling  starnies  bright. 

My  Matthew  mourn  ! 
For  through  your  orbs  he  's  taen  his 
flight. 

Ne'er  to  return. 


XV. 

O  Henderson  !  the  man  !  the  brother ! 
And   art   thou   gone,   and   gone    for 

ever? 
And  hast  thou  crost  that  unknown 
river, 

Life's  dreary  bound  ? 
Like  thee,  where  shall  I  find  another, 
The  world  around  ? 


94 


LAMENT   OF   MARY   QUEEN   OF   SCOTS. 


XVI. 

Go  to  your  sculptured  tombs,  ye  Great, 
In  a'  the  tinsel  trash  o'  state  ! 
But  by  thy  honest  turf  I  "11  wait, 

Thou  man  of  worth ! 
And  weep  the  ae  best  fellow's  fate 

E'er  lay  in  earth  ! 

THE   EPITAPH. 

I. 

Stop,  passenger  !  my  story 's  brief, 
And  truth  I  shall  relate,  man : 

I  tell  nae  common  tale  o'  grief, 
For  Matthew  was  a  great  man. 

II. 

If  thou  uncommon  merit  hast, 

Yet    spurn'd    at    Fortune's    door, 
man ; 

A  look  of  pity  hither  cast. 

For  Matthew  was  a  poor  man. 

III. 

If  thou  a  noble  sodger  art. 

That  passest  by  this  grave,  man ; 

There  moulders  here  a  gallant  heart. 
For  Matthew  was  a  brave  man. 

IV. 

If  thou  on  men,  their  works  and  ways, 
Canst  throw  uncommon  light,  man  ; 

Here   lies   wha  weel    had   won   thy 
praise. 
For  Matthew  was  a  bright  man. 

v. 

If  thou,  at  Friendship's  sacred  ca', 
Wad  life  itself  resign,  man  ; 

Thy  sympathetic  tear  maun  fa', 
For  Matthew  was  a  kind  man. 

VI. 

If  thou  art  staunch,  without  a  stain, 
Like  the  unchanging  blue,  man  ; 

This  was  a  kinsman  o'  thy  ain. 
For  Matthew  was  a  true  man. 


VII. 


If  thou  hast  wit,  and  fun,  and  fire. 
And  ne'er  guid  wine  did  fear,  man  ; 

This  was  thy  billie,  dam,  and  sire, 
For  Matthew  was  a  queer  man. 


VIII. 


If  onie  whiggish,  whingin  sot, 

To  blame  poor  Matthew  dare,  man  ; 

May  dool  and  sorrow  be  his  lot ! 
For  Matthew  was  a  'rare  man. 


LAMENT  OF  MARY  QUEEN 
OF  SCOTS 

ON   THE   APPROACH   OF   SPRING. 

["  The  poets  have  ever  sided  with  the 
victim  of  Elizabeth,  of  John  Knox,  and  of 
her  own  brother. .  Burns  had  been  reading 
the  '  Percy  Reliques,'  which  accounts  for 
the  form  of  the  piece."  —  Andrew  Lang.] 


I. 

Now  Nature  hangs  her  mantle  green, 

On  every  blooming  tree. 
And   spreads   her   sheets   o'    daisies 
white 

Out  o'er  the  grassy  lea ; 
Now    Phoebus    cheers     the     crystal 
streams, 

And  glads  the  azure  skies  : 
But  nought  can  glad  the  w^ary  wight 

That  fast  in  durance  lies. 


II. 

Now  laverocks  wake  the  merry  morn, 

Aloft  on  dewy  wing ; 
The  merle,  in  his  noontide  bowV^ 

Makes  woodland  echoes  ring ; 
The  mavis  wild  wi'  monie  a  note 

Sings  drowsy  day  to  rest : 
In  love  and  freedom  they  rejoice, 

Wi'  care  nor  thrall  opprest. 


TO    ROBERT   GRAHAM   OF   FINTRY,    ESQ. 


95 


III. 

Now  blooms  the  lily  by  the  bank, 

The  primrose  down  the  brae ; 
The  hawthorn  's  budding  in  the  glen, 

And  milk-white  is  the  slae  : 
The  meanest  hind  in  fair  Scotland 

May  rove  their  sweets  amang ; 
But  I,  the  Queen  of  a'  Scotland 

Maun  lie  in  prison  Strang. 


t  was  the  Queen  o'  bonie  France, 

Where  happy  I  hae  been ; 
Fu'  lightly  rase  I  in  the  morn. 

As  blythe  lay  down  at  e'en : 
And  I  'm  the  sovereign  of  Scotland, 

And  monie  a  traitor  there  ; 
Yet  here  I  lie  in  foreign  bands 

And  never-ending  care. 


But  as  for  thee,  thou  false  woman, 

My  sister  and  my  fae, 
Grim   vengeance    yet    shall   whet    a 
sword 

That  thro'  thy  soul  shall  gae  ! 
The  weeping  blood  in  woman's  breast 

Was  never  known  to  thee  ; 
Nor  th'  balm  that  draps  on  wounds  of 
woe 

Frae  woman's  pitying  e'e. 

VI. 

My  son  !  my  son  !  may  kinder  stars 

Upon  thy  fortune  shine  ; 
And   may   those   pleasures   gild   thy 
reign, 

That  ne'er  wad  blink  on  mine ! 
God  keep  thee  frae  thy  mother's  faes, 

Or  turn  their  hearts  to  thee  ; 
And  where  thou  meet'st  thy  mother's 
friend, 

Remember  him  for  me  ! 

VII. 

O!  soon,  to  me,  may  summer  suns 
Nae  mair  light  up  the  morn! 


Nae  mair  to  me  the  autumn  winds 
Wave  o'er  the  yellow  corn  ! 

And,  in  the  narrow  house  of  death. 
Let  winter  round  me  rave ; 

And  the  next  flow'rs  that  deck  the 
spring 
Bloom  on  my  peaceful  grave. 


TO   ROBERT   GRAHAM   OF 
FINTRY,   ESQ. 

[Robert  Graham  of  Fintry  was  one  of  the 
commissioners  of  excise.  "  Of  all  Burns's 
friends,"  writes  Wiison,  "  he  was  the  most 
efficient."  When  Burns  was  accused  of 
disloyalty  he  defended  him  boldly  and  well.] 

Late  crippl'd   of  an  arm,  and  now 

a  leg; 
About   to   beg  a  pass   for   leave   to 

beg; 
Dull,  listless,  teas'd,  dejected,  and  de- 

prest 
( Nature    is    adverse    to   a   cripple's 

rest)  ; 
Will    generous    Graham    list   to   his 

Poet's  wail 
( It  soothes  poor  Misery,  hearkening 

to  her  tale). 
And  hear  him  curse  the  light  he  first 

survey'd. 
And  doubly  curse  the  luckless  rhym- 
ing trade  1 

Thou,  Nature  !    partial   Nature !   I 

arraign  ; 
Of  thy  caprice  maternal  I  complain  : 
The  lion  and  the  bull  thy  care  have 

found, 
One  shakes  the  forests,  and  one  spurns 

the  ground ; 
Thou  giv'st  the  ass  his  hide,  the  snail 

his  shell : 
Th'     envenom'd     wasp,     victorious, 

guards  his  cell ; 
Thy  minions  kings  defend,   control, 

devour. 
In  all   th'  omnipotence  of  rule  and 

power. 


96 


TO  ROBERT   GRAHAM    OF  FINTRY,   ESQ. 


Foxes   and   statesmen    subtile    wiles 

ensure ; 
The  cit  and  polecat  stink,  and  are 

secure ; 
Toads  with  their  poison,  doctors  with 

their  drug, 
The   priest   and   hedgehog   in   their 

robes,  are  snug ; 
Ev'n  silly   woman   has    her   warlike 

arts. 
Her  tongue  and  eyes  —  her  dreaded 

spear  and  darts. 

But  O  thou  bitter  step-mother  and 

hard. 
To  thy  poor,  fenceless,  naked  child  — 

the  Bard  ! 
A  thing  unteachable  in  world's  skill, 
And  half  an  idiot  too,  more  helpless 

still : 
No  heels  to  bear  him  from  the  open- 
ing dun, 
No  claws  to  dig,  his  hated  sight  to 

shun ; 
No  horns,  but  those  by  luckless  Hy- 
men worn. 
And   those,    alas !    not,    Amalthea's 

horn ; 
No  nerves  olfactVy,  Mammon's  trusty 

cur. 
Clad    in    rich    Dulness'    comfortable 

fur; 
In    naked    feeling,    and    in    aching 

pride. 
He  bears  th'  unbroken  blast  from  evVy 

side  : 
Vampyre  booksellers  drain  him  to  the 

heart. 
And  scorpion  critics  cureless  venom 

dart. 


Critics  —  appaird,  I  venture  on  the 

name ; 
Those  cut-throat  bandits  in  the  paths 

of  fame ; 
Bloody    dissectors,    worse   than    ten 

Monroes : 
He  hacks  to  teach,  they  mangle  to 

expose. 


His  heart  by  causeless  wanton  mal- 


ice wrung, 
By  blockheads'  daring  into  madness 

stung ; 
His    well-won    bays,    than   life   itself 

more  dear, 
By  miscreants  torn,  who  ne'er   one 

sprig  must  wear ; 
Foil'd,  bleeding,  tortur'd   in  th'  un- 
equal strife, 
The  hapless  Poet  flounders  on  thro' 

life: 
Till,  fled   each   hope   that   once   his 

bosom  fir'd. 
And   fled    each   Muse   that   glorious 

once  inspir'd. 
Low    sunk    in    squalid,    unprotected 

age, 
Dead  even  resentment  for  his  injur'd 

page, 
He  heeds  or  feels  no  more  the  ruth- 
less critic's  rage  ! 
So,  by  some  hedge,  the  gen'rous  steed 

deceas'd. 
For  half-starv'd  snarling  curs  a  dainty 

feast, 
By  toil  and  famine  wore  to  skin  and 

bone, 
Lies,  senseless  of  each  tugging  bitch's 

son. 


O  Dulness  !   portion   of  the   truly 

blest ! 
Calm     shelter'd     haven     of    eternal 

rest  ! 
Thy  sons  ne'er  madden  in  the  fierce 

extremes 
Of  Fortune's   polar  frost,   or  torrid 

beams. 
If  mantling  high  she  fills  the  golden 

cup. 
With    sober,   selfish    ease    they   sip 

it  up :  ^ 

Conscious  the  bounteous  meed  they 

well  deserve, 
They  only  wonder  '  some  folks '  do 

not  starve. 
The  grave,  sage  hern  thus  easy  picks 

his  frog, 


LAMENT  FOR  JAMES,   EARL  OF  GLENCAIRN. 


97 


And  thinks  the  mallard  a  sad,  worth- 
less dog. 

When  Disappointment  snaps  the  clue 
of  hope. 

And  thro'  disastrous  night  they  dark- 
ling grope, 

With  deaf  endurance  sluggishly  they 
bear, 

And  just  conclude  4hat  fools  are  for- 
tune's care.' 

So,  heavy,  passive  to  the  tempest's 
shocks, 

Strong  on  the  sign-post  stands  the 
stupid  ox. 

Not  so  the  idle   Muses'  mad-cap 

train ; 
Not  such  the  workings  of  their  moon- 

stRick  brain : 
In  equanimity  they  never  dwell ; 
By  turns  in  soaring  heav'n,  or  vaulted 

hell. 

I  dread  thee,  Fate,  relentless  and 

severe. 
With  all  a  poet's,  husband's,  father's 

fear! 
Already  one  strong  hold  of  hope  is 

lost : 
Glencairn,   the    truly   noble,   lies    in 

dust 
(Fled,  like  the  sun  eclips'd  as  noon 

appears. 
And  left  us  darkling  in  a  world  of 

tears). 
O,  hear  my  ardent,  grateful,  selfish 

pray'r ! 
Fintry,  my  other  stay,  long  bless  and 

spare  I 
Thro'  a  long  life  his  hopes  and  wishes 

crown, 
And  bright  in  cloudless  skies  his  sun 

go  down ! 
May  bliss  domestic  smooth  his  pri- 
vate path  ; 
Give  energy  to  life ;  and  soothe  his 

latest  breath. 
With  many  a  filial  tear  circling  the 

bed  of  death  ! 

H 


LAMENT  FOR   JAMES,  EARL 
OF   GLENCAIRN. 

[This  nobleman,  for  whom  the  poet  had 
a  deep  respect,  died  at  Falmouth,  in  his 
forty-second  year.] 

I. 

The  wind  blew  hollow  frae  the  hills  ; 

By  fits  the  sun's  departing  beam 
Look'd  on  the  fading  yellow  woods, 

That  wav'd  o'er   Lugar's   winding 
stream. 
Beneath  a  craigy  steep  a  Bard, 

Laden  with  years  and  meikle  pain, 
In  loud  lament  bewail'd  his  lord. 

Whom  Death  had  all  untimely  taen. 

II. 

He  lean'd  him  to  an  ancient  aik, 

Whose  trunk  was  mould'ring  down 
with  years  ; 
His  locks  were  bleached  white  with 
time. 

His  hoary  cheek  was  wet  wi'  tears  ; 
And  as  he  touch'd  his  trembling  harp, 

And  as  he  tun'd  his  doleful  sang, 
The  winds,  lamenting  thro'  their  caves. 

To  echo  bore  the  notes  alang :  — 

III. 

'  Ye  scatter'd  birds  that  faintly  sing. 
The  reliques  of  the  vernal  quire! 

Ye  woods  that  shed  on  a'  the  winds 
The  honours  of  the  aged  year  ! 

A  few  short  months,  and,  glad  and 

gay, 
Again  ye  '11  charm  the  ear  and  e'e  * 
But  nocht  in  all  revolving  time 
Can  gladness  bring  again  to  me. 

IV. 

^  I  am  a  bending  aged  tree. 

That  long  has  stood  the  wind  and 
rain ; 
But  now  has  come  a  cruel  blast, 

And  my  'ast  hold  of  earth  is  gane ; 


98 


LINES  TO   SIR  JOHN   WHITEFOORD,   BART. 


Kae  leaf  o'  mine  shall  greet  the  spring, 
Nae  simmer  sun  exalt  my  bloom ; 

But  I  maun  lie  before  the  storm, 
And  ithers  plant  them  in  my  room. 


'  I  Ve  seen  sae  monie  changefu'  years, 

On  earth  I  am  a  stranger  grown : 
I  wander  in  the  ways  of  men, 

Alike  unknowing  and  unknown : 
Unheard,  unpitied,  unrelieved, 

I  bear  alane  my  lade  o'  care  ; 
For  silent,  low,  on  beds  of  dust, 

Lie  a'  that  would  my  sorrows  share. 


VI. 

<  And  last  (the  sum  of  a'  my  griefs !) 

My  noble  master  lies  in  clay ; 
The  flow'r  amang  our  barons  bold. 

His  country's   pride,  his  country's 
stay : 
In  weary  being  now  I  pine. 

For  a'  the  life  of  life  is  dead. 
And  hope  has  left  my  aged  ken. 

On  forward  wing  for  ever  fled. 

VII. 

*  Awake  thy  last  sad  voice,  my  harp  ! 

The  voice  of  woe  and  wild  despair ! 
Awake,  resound  thy  latest  lay. 

Then  sleep  in  silence  evermair  ! 
And  thou,  my  last,  best,  only  friend. 

That  fillest  an  untimely  tomb. 
Accept  this  tribute  from  the  Bard 

Thou  brought  from  Fortune's  mirk- 
est  gloom 

VIII. 

'  In  Poverty's  low  barren  vale. 

Thick   mists  obscure   involv'd  me 
round; 
Though  oft  I  turn'd  the  wistful  eye, 
Nae  ray  of  fame  was  to  be  found ; 
Thou  found'st  me,  like  the  morning 
sun 
That  melts  the  fogs  in  limpid  air : 


The  friendless  Bard  and  rustic  song 
Became  alike  thy  fostering  care. 


IX. 

'  O,  why  has  Worth  so  short  a  date, 

While  villains  ripen  grey  with  time! 
Must  thou,  the  noble,  gen'rous,  great. 

Fall  in  bold  manhood's  hardy  prime  ? 
Why  did  I  live  to  see  that  day, 

A  day  to  me  so  full  of  woe  ? 
O,  had  I  met  the  mortal  shaft 

Which  laid  my  benefactor  low! 


X. 

'  The  bridegroom  m.ay  forget  the  bride 

Was    made  his  wedded  wife  yes- 
treen ; 
The  monarch  may  forget  the  crown 

That  on  his  head  an  hour  has  been  ; 
The  mother  may  forget  the  child 

That  smiles  sae  sweetly  on  her  knee  ; 
But  I  '11  remember  thee,  Glencairn, 

And  a'  that  thou  hast  done  for  me  !' 


LINES  TO    SIR   JOHN  WHITE- 
FOORD, Bart. 

SENT  WITH  THE  FOREGOING  POEM. 

[Sir  John  Wliitefoord  was,  like  Glencairn, 
the  warm  friend  of  Burns.] 

Thou,  who  thy  honour  as  thy  God 

rever'st, 
Who,     save    thy    mind's     reproach, 

nought  earthly  fear'st, 
To  thee  this  votive  off'ring  I  impart, 
The  tearful  tribute  of  a  broken  heart. 
The  Friend  thou  valued'st.  I  the  Patron 

lov'd ; 
His  worth,  his  honour,  all  the  world 

approv'd : 
We'll  mourn  till  we  too  go  as  he  has 

gone, 
And  tread  the  shadowy  path  to  that 

dark  world  unknown. 


TAM   O'   SHANTER. 


99 


TAM   O'   SHANTER. 

A  TALE. 

Of  Brownyis  and  ofBogillisftill  is  this  Duke. 
Gawin  Douglas. 

["  This  immortal  poem  was  composed  in 
1789-90.  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that 
Burns,  with  such  a  gift  of  narrative,  did  not 
continue  to  write  tales  which  would  have 
won  for  him  the  place  of  a  Scott,  and,  in 
humor,  not  an  inferior  Chaucer." — AN- 
DREW" Lang.    See  Notes.] 

When  chapman  billies  leave  the  street, 
And  drouthy  neebors  neebors  meet ; 
As  market-days  are  wearing  late, 
An'  folk  begin  to  tak  the  gate ; 
While  we  sit  bousing  at  the  nappy, 
An'  getting  fou  and  unco  happy. 
We  think  na  on  the  lang  Scots  miles. 
The  mosses,  waters,  slaps,  and  styles. 
That  lie  between  us  and  our  hame. 
Whare  sits  our  sulky,  sullen  dame. 
Gathering  her  brows  like  gatheringr 

storm, 
Nursing  her  wrath  to  keep  it  warm. 

This   truth    fand   honest    Tam   o' 
Shanter, 
As  he  frae  Ayr  ae  night  did  canter : 
(Auld  Ayr,  wham  ne'er  a  town  sur- 
passes. 
For  honest  men  and  bonie  lasses.) 

O  Tam,  had'st  thou  but  been  sae 

wise. 
As  taen  thy  ain  wife  Kate's  advice  ! 
She  tauld  thee  weel  thou  was  a  skel- 

lum, 
A  blethering,  blustering,  drunken  blel- 

lum  ; 
That  frae  November  till  October, 
Ae  market-day  thou  was  nae  sober ; 
That  ilka  mel'der  wi'  the  miller. 
Thou  sat  as  lang  as  thou  had  siller ; 
That  ev"ry  naig  was  ca'd  a  shoe  on. 
The  smith  and  thee  gat  roaring  fou  on  : 
That  at  the  Lord's  house,  even   on 

Sunday, 


Thou    drank    wi'    Kirk  ton    Jean    till 

Monday. 
She  prophesied,  that,  late  or  soon. 
Thou  would  be  found  deep  drown'd 

in  Doon, 
Or  catch'd  wi'  warlocks  in  the  mirk 
By  Alloway's  auld,  haunted  kirk. 

Ah!  gentle  dames, it  gars  me  greet, 
To  think  how  monie  counsels  sweet. 
How  monie  lengthened,  sage  advices 
The  husband  frae  the  wife  despises  ! 

But    to    our    tale :  —  Ae    market- 
night, 
Tam  had  got  planted  unco  right, 
Fast  by  an  ingle,  bleezing  finely, 
Wi'   reaming   swats,  that   drank   di- 
vinely ; 
And  at  his  elbow,  Souter  Johnie, 
His  ancient,  trusty,  drouthy  cronie  : 
Tam  lo'ed  him  like  a  very  brither : 
They    had   been  fou  for  weeks  the- 

gither. 
The   night   drave  on  wi'  sangs  and 

clatter ; 
And  ay  the  ale  was  growing  better : 
The  landlady  and  Tam  grew  gracious 
Wi'  secret  favours,  sweet  and  precious  : 
The  Souter  tauld  his  queerest  stories  ; 
The     landlord's     laugh     was     ready 

chorus  : 
The   storm   without   might   rair  and 

rustle, 
Tam  did  na  mind  the  storm  a  whistle. 

Care,  mad  to  see  a  man  sae  happy. 
E'en  drown'd  himsel  amangthe  nappy. 
As  bees  flee  hame  wi"  lades  o"  treasure. 
The    minutes    wing'd   their    way   wi' 

pleasure  : 
Kings   may   be   blest    but   Tam  was 

glorious. 
O'er  a'  the  ills  o'  life  victorious! 

But    pleasures    are     like    poppies 

spread  : 
You   seize   the    flow'r,   its    bloom    is 

shed  ; 
Or  like  the  snow  falls  in  the  river, 


300 


TAM   O'   SHANTER. 


A   moment    white  —  then   melts   for 

ever; 
Or  like  the  borealis  race, 
That    flit    ere    you    can   point    their 

place ; 
Or  like  the  rainbow's  lovely  form 
Evanishing  amid  the  storm. 
Nae  man  can  tether  time  or  tide ; 
The  hour  approaches  Tam  maun  ride  : 
That  hour,  o'  night's  black  arch  the 

key-stane, 
That   dreary  hour  Tam  mounts   his 

beast  in ; 
And  sic  a  night  he  taks  the  road  in, 
As  ne'er  poor  sinner  was  abroad  in. 

The  wind  blew  as  't  wad  blawn  its 
last ; 

The  rattling  showers  rose  on  the 
blast ; 

The  speedy  gleams  the  darkness 
swallow'd ; 

Loud,  deep,  and  lang  the  thunder 
bellow'd : 

That  night,  a  child  might  under- 
stand, 

The  Deil  had  business  on  his  hand. 

Weel  mounted  on   his  gray  mare 

Meg, 
A  better  never  lifted  leg, 
Tam  skelpit  on  thro'  dub  and  mire. 
Despising  wind,  and  rain,  and  fire ; 
Whiles    holding    fast   his   guid   blue 

bonnet, 
Whiles  crooning  o'er  some  auld  Scots 

sonnet. 
Whiles  glow'ring  round  wi'  prudent 

cares. 
Lest  bogles  catch  him  unawares  : 
Kirk-Alloway  was  drawing  nigh, 
Whare   ghaists   and   houlets   nightly 

cry. 

By  this  time  he  was  cross  the  ford, 
Whare    in    the    snaw    the    chapman 

smoor'd ; 
And  past  the  birks  and  meikle  stane, 
Whare  drunken  Charlie  brak  's  neck- 
bane  ^ 


And  thro'  the  whins,  and  by  the 
cairn, 

Whare  hunters  fand  the  murder'd 
bairn ; 

And  near  the  thorn,  aboon  the  well, 

Whare  Mungo's  mither  hang'd  hersel. 

Before  him  Doon  pours  all  his  floods  ; 

The  doubling  storm  roars  thro'  the 
woods ; 

The  lightnings  flash  from  pole  to 
pole ; 

Near  and  more  near  the  thunders 
roll: 

When,  glimmering  thro'  the  groaning 
trees, 

Kirk-Alloway  seem'd  in  a  bleeze, 

Thro'  ilka  bore  the  beams  were  glanc- 
ing, 

And  loud  resounded  mirth  and  danc- 
ing. 

Inspiring  bold  John  Barleycorn, 
What  dangers  thou  canst   make  us 

scorn  ! 
Wi'  tippenny,  we  fear  nae  evil ; 
Wi'  usquabae,  we  '11  face  the  Devil  ! 
The  swats  sae  ream'd  in  Tammie's 

noddle, 
Fair  play,  he  car'd  na  deils  a  boddle. 
But  Maggie  stood,  right  sair  aston- 

ish'd. 
Till,   by  the  heel  and  hand  admon- 

ish'd. 
She  ventured  forward  on  the  light ; 
And,  vow  !  Tam  saw  an  unco  sight  ! 

Warlocks  and  witches  in  a  dance  : 
Nae  cotillion,  brent  new  frae  France, 
But  hornpipes,  jigs,  strathspeys,  and 

reels. 
Put  life  and  mettle  in  their  heels. 
A  winnock-bunker  in  the  east, 
There    sat   Auld  Nick,    in   shape  o' 

beast ; 
A  tousie  tyke,  black,  grim,  and  large, 
To  gie  them  music  was  his  charge  : 
He  screw'd  the  pipes  and  gart  them 

skirl. 
Till  roof  and  rafters  a'  did  dirl. 
Coffins  stood  round,  like  open  presses, 


TAM   O'   SHANTER. 


,iai 


That  shaw'd  the  dead  in  their  last 

dresses ; 
And,  by  some  devilish  cantraip  sleight, 
Each  in  its  cauld  hand  held  a  light : 
By  which  heroic  Tarn  was  able 
To  note  upon  the  haly  table, 
A  murderer's  banes,  in  gibbet-airns ; 
Twa    span-lang,     wee,    unchristen'd 

bairns ; 
A  thief  new-cutted  frae  a  rape  — 
Wi^  his  last  gasp  his  gab  did  gape ; 
Five  tomahawks  \vi'  bluid  red-rusted  ; 
Five  scymitars  \vi'  murder  crusted ; 
A  garter  which  a  babe  had  strangled  ; 
A  knife  a  father's  throat  had  man- 
gled— _ 
Whom  his  ain  son  o'  life  bereft  — 
The  grey-hairs  yet  stack  to  the  heft ; 
Wi"  mair  of  horrible  and  awefu'. 
Which  even  to  name  wad  be  unlawful 

As  Tammie  glowr'd,  amaz'd,  and 

curious, 
The   mirth    and   fun   grew   fast   and 

furious ; 
The  piper  loud  and  louder  blew, 
The  dancers  quick  and  quicker  flew. 
They   reel'd,  they  set,  they  crossed, 

they  cleekit, 
Till  ilka  carlin  swat  and  reekit, 
And  coost  her  duddies  to  the  wark, 
And  linket  at  it  in  her  sark  ! 

Now  Tarn,  O  Tarn  !  had  thae  been 

queans, 
A'    plump    and    strapping    in    their 

teens! 
Their  sarks,  instead  o'  creeshie  flan- 

nen, 
Been   snaw-white   seventeen   hunder 

linen!  — 
Thir  breeks  o'  mine,  my  only  pair, 
That  ance  were  plush,  o'  guid  blue 

hair, 
I  wad  hae  gi'en  them  off  my  hurdles 
For  ae  blink  o'  the  bonie  burdies  ! 

But   wither'd    beldams,   auld    and 
droll, 
Rigwoodie  hags  wad  spean  a  foal, 


Louping  and  fling-ng  oft  a  OnMT.rpock 
I  wonder  did  na  turn.tny  stom^cn  U 

But  Tam  kend  what  was  what  fu' 
brawlie  : 
There  was   ae  winsome  wench   and 

wawlie, 
That  night  enlisted  in  the  core, 
Lang  after  kend  on  Carrick  shore 
(For  monie  a  beast  to  dead  she  shot, 
An'  perish'd  monie  a  bonie  boat. 
And    shook   baith   meikle    corn    and 

bear. 
And  kept  the  country-side  in  fear). 
Her  cutty  sark,  o'  Paisley  harn, 
That  while  a  lassie  she  had  worn, 
In  longitude  tho'  sorely  scanty, 
It     was     her     best,    and     she     was 

vauntie.   .   .   . 
Ah !  little  kend  thy  reverend  grannie, 
That  sark  she  coft  for  her  wee  Nan- 
nie, 
Wi'  twa  pund  Scots   ("t  was   a'   her 

riches), 
Wad  ever  grac'd  a  dance  of  witches  ! 

But  here  my  Muse  her  wing  maun 

cour, 
Sic  flights  are  far  beyond  her  power : 
To  sing  how  Nannie  lap  and  flang 
(A  souple  jad  she  was  and  Strang), 
And   how  Tam   stood   like   ane   be- 

witch'd. 
And  thought  his  very  een  enrich'd ; 
Even   Satan  glowr'd,   and  fidg'd  fu' 

fain. 
And  hotch'd  and  blew  wi'  might  and 

main ; 
Till  first  ae  caper,  syne  anither, 
Tam  tint  his  reason  a'  thegither, 
And  roars  out :  '  Weel  done,  Cutty- 

sark ! ' 
And  in  an  instant  all  was  dark ; 
And  scarcely  had  he  Maggie  rallied. 
When  out  the  hellish  legion  sallied. 

As  bees  bizz  out  wi'  angry  fyke, 
When  plundering  herds  assail   their 

byke ; 
As  open  pussie's  mortal  foes, 


1^2* 


ON   SEEING  A  WOUNDED   HARE   LIMP   BY   ME. 


When.;  -pCfp^'    S'h-e  sxait5  before  their 

nose ; 
As  eager  runs  the  market-crowd, 
When  '  Catch   the    thief ! '    resounds 

aloud  ■. 
So  Maggie  runs,  the  witches  follow, 
Wi'  monie  an  eldritch   skriech   and 

hollo. 

Ah,  Tarn!     Ah,  Tarn  !  thou '11  get 

thy  fairin! 
In  hell  they  '11  roast  thee  like  a  herrin! 
In  vain  thy  Kate  awaits  thy  comin  ! 
Kate  soon  will  be  a  woefu'  woman  ! 
Now,  do  thy  speedy  utmost,  Meg, 
And  win  the  key-stane  of  the  brig ; 
There,    at   them   thou   thy   tail   may 

toss, 
A  running  stream  they  dare  na  cross  ! 
But  ere  the  key-stane  she  could  make, 
The  fient  a  tail  she  had  to  shake ; 
For  Nannie,  far  before  the  rest, 
Hard  upon  noble  Maggie  prest, 
And  flew  at  Tam  wi'  furious  ettle ; 
But  little  wist  she  Maggie's  mettle! 
Ae   spring   brought   off   her    master 

hale, 
But  left  behind  her  ain  grey  tail : 
The  carlin  claught  her  by  the  rump. 
And  left  poor  Maggie  scarce  a  stump. 

Now,  wha  this  tale  o'  truth  shall  read, 
Ilk  man,  and  mother's  son,  take  heed  : 
Whene'er  to  drink  you  are  inclin'd. 
Or  cutty  sarks  run  in  your  mind. 
Think !  ye  may  buy  the  joys  o'er  dear : 
Remember  Tam  o'  Shanter's  mare. 


ON  SEEING  A  WOUNDED 
HARE  LIMP  BY  ME  WHICH 
A  FELLOW  HAD  JUST  SHOT 
AT. 

[Of  this  poem  Burns  says,  April  21, 1789  : 
"Two  mornings  ago,  as  1  was  at  a  very 
early  hour  sowing  in  the  fields,  I  heard  a 
shot,  and  presently  a  poor  little  hare  limped 
by  nie  apparently  very  much  hurt.    You  will 


easily  guess  this  set  my  humanity  in  tears 
and  my  indignation  in  arms."] 

I. 

Inhuman  man !  curse  on  thy  barb'rous 
art. 
And  blasted  be  thy  murder-aiming 

eye; 
May  never  pity  sooth  thee  with  a 
sigh, 
Nor   never  pleasure  glad   thy   cruel 
heart! 


II. 

Go  live,  poor  wanderer  of  the  wood 
and  field. 
The  bitter  little  that  of  life  remains ! 
No  more  the  thickening  brakes  and 
verdant  plains 
To  thee  shall  home,  or  food,  or  pastime 
yield. 

III. 

Seek,  mangled  wretch,  some  place  of 
wonted  rest. 
No  more  of  rest,  but  now  thy  dying 

bed! 
The  sheltering  rushes  whistling  o'er 
thy  head, 
The  cold  earth  wdth  thy  bloody  bosom 
prest. 

IV. 

Perhaps  a  mother's  anguish  adds  its 
woe; 
The  playful  pair  crowd  fondly  by 

thy  side : 
Ah,  helpless  nurslings,  who  will  now 
provide 
That  life  a  mother  only  can  bestow  ? 


Oft  as  by  winding  Nith  I,  musing,  wait 
The  sober  eve,  or  hail  the  cheerful 

dawn, 
I  '11  miss  thee  sporting  o'er  the  dewy 
lawn. 
And  curse  the  ruffian's  aim,  and  mourn 
thy  hapless  fate. 


ON  THE   LATE  CAPTAIN   GROSE'S    PEREGRINATIONS. 


103 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  SHADE  OF 
THOMSON, 

ON  CROWNING  HIS  BUST  AT  EDNAM, 
ROXBURGHSHIRE,  WITH  A  WREATH 
OF   BAYS. 

[An  imitation  of  Collins.  The  poem  was 
written  for  Lord  Buchan,  on  the  occasion  of 
crowning  the  bust  of  Thomson  with  a  wreath 
of  bays.] 

I. 

While  virgin  Spring  by  Eden's  flood 
Unfolds  her  tender  mantle  green, 

Or  pranks  the  sod  in  frolic  mood, 
Or  tunes  Eolian  strains  between : 


n. 

While  Summer  with  a  matron  grace, 
Retreats    to    Dryburgh's     cooling 
shade. 

Yet  oft,  delighted,  stops  to  trace 
The  progress  of  the  spikey  blade  : 


III. 

While  Autumn,  benefactor  kind, 
By  Tweed  erects  his  aged  head. 

And  sees,  with  self-approving  mind. 
Each  creature  on  his  bounty  fed : 

rv. 

While  maniac  Winter  rages  o'er 
The  hills  whence   classic  Yarrow 
flows. 

Rousing  the  turbid  torrent's  roar, 
Or  sweeping,  wild,  a  waste  of  snows : 


V. 

So  long,  sweet  Poet  of  the  year! 
Shall  bloom  that  wreath  thou  well 
has  won  ; 
While  Scotia,  with  exulting  tear, 
Proclaims  that  Thomson  was  her 
son. 


ON  THE  LATE  CAPTAIN 
GROSE^S  PEREGRINATIONS 
THRO'   SCOTLAND, 

COLLECTING     THE     ANTIQUITIES     OF 
THAT   KINGDOM. 

[Captain  Grose  was  the  son  of  Francis 
Grose,  a  Swiss,  who  had  settled  in  England. 
He  was  born  about  173 1,  and  was  educated 
as  an  artist.  Cunningham  says  this  "  fine, 
fat,  fodgel  wight"  was  a  clever  man,  a  skil- 
ful antiquary,  and  fond  of  wit  and  wine. 
Burns  first  met  him  at  the  social  board  of 
Glenriddell.J 


Hear,   Land  o'  Cakes,  and   brither 

Scots 
Frae  Maidenkirk  to  Johnie  Groat's, 
If  there 's  a  hole  in  a'  your  coats, 

I  rede  you  tent  it : 
A  chield  's  amang  you  takin  notes. 

And  faith  he  '11  prent  it : 

II. 

If  in  your  bounds  ye  chance  to  light 

Upon  a  fine,  fat,  fodgel  wight, 

O'  stature  short  but  genius  bright, 

That 's  he,  mark  weel : 
And  wow!  he  has  an  unco  sleight 

O'  cauk  and  keel. 

III. 

By  some  auld,  houlet-haunted  biggin, 

Or  kirk  deserted  by  its  riggin. 

It's  ten  to  ane  ye '11  find  him  snug  in 

Some  eldritch  part, 
Wi'  deils,  they  say,  Lord  safe's!  col- 


leaguin 


At  some  black  art. 


IV. 


Ilk   ghaist   that   haunts   auld  ha'  or 

chamer. 
Ye  gipsy-gang  that  deal  in  glamour. 
And  you,  deep-read  in  helPs   black 

grammar. 

Warlocks  and  witches : 


I04 


TO   MISS   CRUICKSHANK. 


Ye  '11  quake  at  his  conjuring  hammer, 
Ye  midnight  bitches! 

V. 

It 's  tauld  he  was  a  sodger  bred, 
And  ane  wad  rather  fa'n  than  fled  ; 
But  now  he  's  quat  the  spurtle-blade 

And  dog-skin  wallet, 
And  taen  the  —  Antiquarian  trade, 

I  think  they  call  it. 


VI. 

He  has  a  fouth  o'  auld  nick-nackets : 
Rusty  airn  caps  and  jinglin  jackets 
Wad  haud   the    Lothians    three    in 
tackets 

A  towmont  guid ; 
And    parritch-pats    and    auld     saut- 
backets 

Before  the  Flood. 

VII. 

Of  Eve's  first  fire  he  has  a  cinder ; 
Auld  Tubalcain's  fire-shool  and  fen- 
der; 
That  which  distinguished  the  gender 

O'  Balaam's  ass  ; 
A  broomstick  o'  the  witch  of  Endor, 

Weel  shod  wi'  brass. 


VIII. 

Forbye,  he  '11  shape  you  aff  fu'  gleg 
The  cut  of  Adam's  philibeg ; 
The  knife  that  nicket  Abel's  craig 

He  '11  prove  you  fully, 
It  was  a  faulding  jocteleg, 

Or  lang-kail  gullie. 


IX. 

But  wad  ye  see  him  in  his  glee  — 
For  meikle  glee  and  fun  has  he  — 
Then  set  him  down,  and  twa  or  three 

Guid  fellows  wi'  him  ; 
And  port,  O  port  !  shine  thou  a  wee. 

And  then  ye  '11  see  him  ! 


X. 

Now,   by   the   Pow'rs    o'   verse   and 

prose  ! 
Thou  art  a  dainty  chield,  O  Grose  !  — 
Whae'er  o'  thee  shall  ill  suppose, 

They  sair  misca'  thee ; 
I  'd  take  the  rascal  by  the  nose, 

Wad  say, '  Shame  fa'  thee.' 


TO  MISS   CRUICKSHANK. 


A   VERY   YOUNG   LADY. 

Written  on  the  Blank  Leaf  of  a  Book,  pre- 
sented to  her  by  the  Author. 

[Miss  Jane  Cruickshank  was  a  daughter 
of  Mr.  William  Cruickshank,  a  master  of 
the  High  School,  Edinburgh,  and  was  then 
about  twelve  years  old.] 

Beauteous  Rosebud,  young  and  gay, 
Blooming  on  thy  early  May, 
Never  may'st  thou,  lovely  flower, 
Chilly  shrink  in  sleety  shower  ! 
Never  Boreas'  hoary  path. 
Never  Eurus'  pois'nous  breath. 
Never  baleful  stellar  lights, 
Taint  thee  with  untimely  blights  ! 
Never,  never  reptile  thief 
Riot  on  thy  virgin  leaf! 
Nor  even  Sol  too  fiercely  view 
Thy  bosom  blushing  still  with  dew! 


May'st  thou   long,  sweet    crimson 
gem, 
Richly  deck  thy  native  stem  ; 
Till  some  ev'ning,  sober,  calm, 
Dropping  dews  and  breathing  balm  ; 
While  all  around  the  woodland  rings, 
And  ev'ry  bird  thy  requiem  sings. 
Thou,  amid  the  dirgeful  sound, 
Shed  thy  dying  honours  round. 
And  resign  to  parent  Earth 
The  loveliest  form  she  e'er  gave  birth. 


ANNA,  THY   CHARMS.— HUMBLE   PETITION   OF  BRUAR  WATER.     105 


SONG:  ANNA,  THY  CHARMS. 

[This  song  referred  to  a  sweetheart  of 
Alexander  Cunningham,  and  was  a  "vica- 
rious effusion."] 


Anna,  thy  charms  my  bosom  fire, 
And  waste  my  soul  with  care ; 

But  ah  !  how  bootless  to  admire 
When  fated  to  despair  ! 

II. 

Yet  in  thy  presence,  lovely  Fair, 
To  hope  may  be  forgiven  : 

For  sure  't  were  impious  to  despair 
So  much  in  sight  of  Heaven. 


ON  READING  IN  A  NEWSPA- 
PER THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN 
MCLEOD,  ESQ., 

brother  to  a  young  lady,  a 
particular  friend  of  the 
author's. 

[Mr.  M'Leod  was  of  the  Raasay  family. 
He  died  July  20,  1787.] 

I. 

Sad  thy  tale,  thou  idle  page, 

And  rueful  thy  alarms  : 
Death  tears  the  brother  of  her  love 

From  Isabella's  arms. 

II. 

Sweetly  deckt  with  pearly  dew 
The  morning  rose  may  blow  ; 

But  cold  successive  noontide  blasts 
May  lay  its  beauties  low. 

III. 

Fair  on  Isabella's  morn 
The  sun  propitious  smil'd  ; 

3ut,  long  ere  noon,  succeeding  clouds 
Succeeding  hopes  beguil'd. 


IV. 

Fate  oft  tears  the  bosom-chords 
That  Nature  finest  strung  : 

So  Isabella's  heart  was  form'd. 
And  so  that  heart  was  wruns:. 


V. 

Dread  Omnipotence  alone 

Can  heal  the  wound  he  gave  — 

Can  point  the  brimful,  grief-worn  eyes 
To  scenes  beyond  the  grave. 

VI. 

Virtue's  blossoms  there  shall  blow, 
And  fear  no  withering  blast ; 

There  Isabella's  spotless  worth 
Shall  happy  be  at  last. 


THE   HUMBLE   PETITION   OF 
BRUAR   WATER 

TO  THE  NOBLE  DUKE  OF  ATHOLE. 

["  Bruar  Falls,  in  Athole,  are  exceedingly 
picturesque  and  beautiful,  but  their  effect  is 
much  impaired  by  the  want  of  trees  and 
shrubs."  —  R.  B.] 


My  lord,  I  know,  your  noble  ear 

Woe  ne'er  assails  in  vain ; 
Embolden'd  thus,  I  beg  you  '11  hear 

Your  humble  slave  complain, 
How  saucy  Phoebus'  scorching  beams. 

In  flaming  summer-pride. 
Dry- withering,     w^aste     my     foamy 
streams, 

And  drink  my  crystal  tide. 

II. 

The  lightly-jumping,  glowrin  trouts, 

That  thro'  my  waters  play, 
If,  in  their  random,  wanton  spouts. 

They  near  the  margin  stray  ; 
If,  hapless  chance!  they      _ 

I  'm  scorching  up  so  shallow, 
They  're    left    the   whitening   stanes 
amang 

In  gasping  death  to  wallow. 


linfrer  lang, 


io6 


THE   HUMBLE   PETITION   OF   BRUAR    WATER. 


III. 

Last  day  I  grat  wi^  spite  and  teen, 

As  Poet  Burns  came  by, 
That,  to  a  Bard,  I  should  be  seen 

Wi"  half  my  channel  dry ; 
A  panegyric  rhyme,  I  ween, 

Ev'n  as  I  was,  he  shor'd  me ; 
But  had  I  in  my  glory  been. 

He,  kneeling,  wad  ador'd  me. 

IV. 

Here,  foaming  down  the  skeivy  rocks. 

In  twisting  strength  I  rin  ; 
There  high  my  boiling  torrent  smokes. 

Wild-roaring  o'er  a  linn  : 
Enjoying  large  each  spring  and  well, 

As  Nature  gave  them  me, 
I  am,  altho'  I  say  't  mysel, 

Worth  gaun  a  mile  to  see. 


Would,  then,  my  noble  master  please 

To  grant  my  highest  wishes, 
He  '11  shade  my  banks  wi'  tow'ring 
trees 

And  bonie  spreading  bushes. 
Delighted  doubly  then,  my  lord, 

You'll  wander  on  my  banks. 
And  listen  monie  a  grateful  bird 

Return  you  tuneful  thanks. 

VI. 

The  sober  laverock,  warbling  wild. 

Shall  to  the  skies  aspire  ; 
The  gowdspink,  Music's  gayest  child, 

Shall  sweetly  join  the  choir ; 
The  blackbird  strong,  the  lintwhite 
clear. 

The  mavis  mild  and  mellow. 
The  robin,  pensive  Autumn  cheer 

In  all  her  locks  of  yellow. 

VII. 

This,  too,  a  covert  shall  ensure 
To  shield  them  from  the  storm  ; 

And  coward  maukin  sleep  secure. 
Low  in  her  grassy  form  : 


Here   shall   the  shepherd   make    his 
seat 

To  weave  his  crown  of  flow'rs  ; 
Or  find  a  shelt'ring,  safe  retreat 

From  prone-descending  show'rs. 

VIII. 

And  here,  by  sweet,  endearing  stealth. 

Shall  meet  the  loving  pair. 
Despising  worlds  with  all  their  wealth. 

As  empty  idle  care  : 
The    flow'rs   shall   vie,   in   all    their 
charms, 

The  hour  of  heav'n  to  grace  ; 
And  birks  extend  their  fragrant  arms 

To  screen  the  dear  embrace. 


IX. 

Here  haply  too,  at  vernal  dawn, 

Some  musing  Bard  may  stray, 
And  eye  the  smoking,  dewy  lawn 

And  misty  mountain  grey ; 
Or,  by  the  reaper's  nightly  beam. 

Mild-chequering  thro'  the  trees. 
Rave  to  my  darkly  dashing  stream, 

Hoarse-svv^elling  on  the  breeze. 


X. 

Let  lofty  firs  and  ashes  cool 

My  lowly  banks  o'erspread, 
And  view,  deep-bending  in  the  pool. 

Their  shadows'  wat'ry  bed  : 
Let  fragrant  birks,  in  woodbines  drest. 

My  craggy  cliffs  adorn. 
And,  for  the  little  songster's  nest, 

The  close  embow'ring  thorn  ! 


XI. 

So  may,  old  Scotia's  darling  hope, 

Your  little  angel  band 
Spring,  like  their  fathers,  up  to  prop 

Their  honour'd  native  land  ! 
So  may,  thro'  Albion's  farthest  ken, 

To  social-flowing  glasses, 
The  grace  be  :  'Athole's  honest  men 

And  Athole's  bonie  lasses  ! ' 


ON   SCARING   SOME   WATER-FOWL.  — ADMIRING   NATURE.      107 


ON    SCARING   SOME   WATER- 
FOWL   IN    LOCH    TURIT, 

A   WILD   SCENE   AMONG  THE    HILLS 
OF   OUGHTERTYRE. 

["  This  was  the  production  of  a  solitary 
forenoon's  walk  from  Oughtertyre  House. 
I  lived  there,  the  guest  of  Sir  William 
Murray,  for  two  or  three  weeks  [  October, 
1787],  and  was  much  flattered  by  my  hospi- 
table reception."  —  R.  B.] 

Why,  ye  tenants  of  the  lake, 
For  me  your  wat'ry  haunt  forsake? 
Tell  me,  fellow  creatures,  why 
At  my  presence  thus  you  fly  .'' 
Why  disturb  your  social  joys, 
Parent,  filial,  kindred  ties  ?  — 
Common  friend  to  you  and  me, 
Nature's  gifts  to  all  are  free  : 
Peaceful  keep  your  dimpling  wave, 
Busy  feed,  or  wanton  lave  ; 
Or,  beneath  the  sheltering  rock. 
Bide  the  surging  billow's  shock. 


Conscious,  blushing  for  our  race. 
Soon,  too  soon,  your  fears  I  trace. 
Man,  your  proud,  usurping  foe, 
Would  be  lord  of  all  below : 
Plumes  himself  in  freedom's  pride, 
Tyrant  stern  to  all  beside. 

The  eagle,  from  the  cliffy  brow     . 
Marking  you  his  prey  below. 
In  his  breast  no  pity  dwells, 
Strong  necessity  compels : 
But  Man,  to  whom  alone  is  giv'n 
A  ray  direct  from  pitying  Heav'n, 
Glories  in  his  heart  humane  — 
And  creatures  for  his  pleasure  slain ! 

In  these  savage,  liquid  plains. 
Only  known  to  w^andVing  swains. 
Where  the  mossy  riv'let  strays 
Far  from  human  haunts  and  ways, 
All  on  Nature  you  depend, 
And  life's  poor  season  peaceful  spend. 


Or,  if  Man's  superior  might 
Dare  invade  your  native  right, 
On  the  lofty  ether  borne, 
Man  with  all  his  powers  you  scorn ; 
Swiftly  seek,  on  clanging  wings, 
Other  lakes,  and  other  springs  ; 
And  the  foe  you  cannot  brave, 
Scorn  at  least  to  be  his  slave. 


VERSES    WRITTEN   WITH 
A   PENCIL 

OVER   THE   CHIMNEY-PIECE,    IN   THE 
PARLOUR    OF   THE   INN    AT    KEN- 
MORE,    TAYMOUTH. 

[Burns  visited  Taymouth  Aug.  29,  1787. 
In  regard  to  the  poem,  he  says:  "  I  wrote 
this  with  a  pencil  over  the  chimney-piece  in 
the  parlor  of  the  inn  at  Kenmore,  at  the 
outlet  of  Loch  Tay."] 

Admiring  Nature  in  her  wildest  grace, 
These  northern  scenes  with  weary  feet 

I  trace ; 
O'er  many  a  winding  dale  and  painful 

steep, 
Th'    abodes    of  covey'd  grouse   and 

timid  sheep. 
My  savage  journey,  curious.  I  pursue. 
Till  fam'd  Breadalbane  opens  to  my 

view . 
The    meeting    cliffs    each   deep-sunk 

glen  divides : 
The  w^oods,  wild-scatter'd,  clothe  their 

ample  sides : 
Th'    outstretching    lake,    imbosomed 

'mong  the  hills. 
The  eve  with  wonder  and  amazement 

fills : 
The  Tay  meand'ring  sweet  in  infant 

pride, 
The  palace  rising  on  his  verdant  side. 
The  lawns  wood-fring'd  in   Nature's 

native  taste. 
The  hillocks  dropt  in  Nature's  care- 
less haste. 
The  arches  striding  o'er  the  new-born 

stream, 


io8 


ON  THE   BIRTH   OF   A   POSTHUMOUS   CHILD. 


The  village  glittering  in  the  noontide 
beam  — 


Poetic  ardors  in  my  bosom  swell, 

Lone  wandering  by  the  hermit's  mossy 
cell; 

The  sweeping  theatre  of  hanging 
woods, 

Th'  incessant  roar  of  headlong  tum- 
bling floods  — 


Here  Poesy  might  wake  her  heav'n- 
taught  lyre, 

And  look  through  Nature  with  crea- 
tive fire ; 

Here,  to  the  wrongs  of  Fate  half 
reconciPd, 

Misfortune's  lighten'd  steps  might 
wander  wild ; 

And  Disappointment,  in  these  lonely 
bounds. 

Find  balm  to  soothe  her  bitter  rank- 
ling wounds ; 

Here  heart-struck  Grief  might  heav'n- 
ward  stretch  her  scan. 

And  injur'd  Worth  forget  and  pardon 
man. 


LINES     ON     THE    FALL    OF 
FYERS,   NEAR   LOCH    NESS. 

WRITTEN   WITH   A  PENCIL  ON   THE 
SPOT. 

["  I  composed  these  lines  standing  on  the 
brink  of  the  hideous  caldron  below  the 
waterfall."— (R.  B.)  He  visited  the  Fall 
of  Fyers  on  Sept.  5,  1787.] 

Among  the  heathy  hills  and  ragged 

woods 
The  roaring  Fyers  pours  his  mossy 

floods ; 
Till    full   he   dashes    on   the    rocky 

mounds, 


Where,  thro'  a  shapeless  breach,  his 

stream  resounds. 
As  high  in  air  the  bursting  torrents 

flow. 
As  deep  recoiling  surges  foam  below, 
Prone  down  the  rock  the  whitening 

sheet  descends. 
And  viewless  Echo's  ear,  astonish'd, 

rends. 
Dim-seen  through   rising   mists  and 

ceaseless  show'rs, 
The  hoary  cavern,  wide-surrounding, 

lours : 
Still  thro'  the  gap  the  struggling  river 

toils, 
And  still,  below,  the  horrid  caldron 

boils  — 


ON   THE   BIRTH    OF   A   POST- 
HUMOUS   CHILD, 

BORN    IN    PECULIAR    CIRCUMSTANCES 
OF   FAMILY   DISTRESS. 

[Composed  in  November,  1790,  on  re- 
ceiving a  letter  from  Mrs.  Dunlop  announc- 
ing that  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Henri,  whose 
husband  had  died  about  five  months  pre- 
viously, had  borne  a  son.] 


SwEET  flow'ret,  pledge  o'  meikle  love. 
And  ward  o'  monie  a  prayer. 

What   heart    o'   stane  wad   thou   na 
move, 
Sae  helpless,  sweet,  and  fair ! 

II. 

November  hirples  o'er  the  lea. 

Chill,  on  thy  lovely  form  ; 
And  gane,  alas  !  the  shelt'ring  tree, 

Should  shield  thee  frae  the  storm. 

III. 

May  He  who  gives  the  rain  to  pour, 
And  wings  the  blast  to  blaw, 

Protect  thee  frae  the  driving  show'r, 
The  bitter  frost  and  snaw  ! 


THE   WHISTLE. 


109 


IV. 


May  He,  the  friend  of  Woe  and  Want, 
Who  heals  life's  various  stounds, 

Protect  and  guard  the  mother  plant, 
And  heal  her  cruel  wounds  ! 


V. 


But  late  she  flourished,  rooted  fast, 
Fair  on  the  summer  morn, 

Now  feebly  bends  she  in  the  blast, 
Unsheltered  and  forlorn. 


VI. 


Blest  be  thy  bloom,  thou  lovely  gem, 
Unscath'd  by  rufifian  hand  ! 

And  from  thee  many  a  parent  stem 
Arise  to  deck  our  land  ! 


THE  WHISTLE. 

A  Ballad. 

[Professor  Wilson  says  of  "  The  Whistle  " 
— "  It  is  perhaps  an  improper  poem  in 
priggish  eyes,  but,  in  the  eyes  of  Bacchus, 
the  best  of  triumphal  odes."  Regarding  the 
poet's  share  in  the  transaction.  Professor 
Wilson  says,  "  Burns,  that  evening,  was 
sitting  with  his  eldest  child  on  his  knee, 
teaching  him  to  say  '  Dad  ! '  —  that  night  he 
was  lying  in  his  own  bed,  with  bonie  Jean 
by  his  side,  and  '  yon  bright  god  of  day ' 
saluted  him  next  morning  at  the  scaur  above 
the  glittering  Nith."  For  the  prose  history 
of  "The  Whistle,"  see  NOTES.] 


I  SING  of  a  Whistle,  a  Whistle  of 
worth, 

I  sins;  of  a  Whistle,  the  pride  of  the 
North, 

Was  brought  to  the  court  of  our  good 
Scottish  King, 

And  long  with  this  Whistle  all  Scot- 
land shall  ring. 

II. 

Old  Loda,  still  rueing  the  arm  of  Fin- 
gal, 

The  God  of  the  Bottle  sends  down 
from  his  hall : 


'This   Whistle's   your   challenge,  to 

Scotland  get  o'er, 
And  drink  them  to  Hell,  Sir  !  or  ne'er 

see  me  more  ! ' 

III. 

Old  poets  have  sung,  and  old  chroni- 
cles tell, 

What  champions  ventured,  what 
champions  fell : 

The  son  of  great  Loda  was  conqueror 
still. 

And  blew  on  the  Whistle  their  requiem 
shrill. 

IV. 

Till  Robert,  the  lord  of  the  Cairn  and 

the  Scaur, 
Unmatch'd  at  the  bottle,  unconquer'd 

in  war. 
He  drank  his  poor  god-ship  as  deep 

as  the  sea; 
No   tide  of  the  Baltic  e'er  drunker 

than  he. 

V. 

Thus  Robert,  victorious,  the  trophy 

has  gain'd ; 
Which  now  in  his  house  has  for  ages 

remained ; 
Till  three  noble  chieftains,  and  all  of 

his  blood. 
The  jovial   contest    again    have   re- 

new'd. 

VI. 

Three  joyous  good  fellows,  with  hearts 

clear  of  flaw ; 
Craigdarroch,  so  famous  for  wit,  worth, 

and  law ; 
And  trusty  Glenriddel,  so  skilled  in 

old  coins ; 
And  gallant  Sir  Robert,  deep-read  in 

old  wines. 

VII. 

Craigdarroch  began,  with  a  tongue 
smooth  as  oil, 


no 


THE  WHISTLE. 


Desiring  Glenriddel  to  yield  up  the 

spoil ; 
Or  else  he  would  muster  the  heads  of 

the  clan, 
And  once  more,  in  claret,  try  which 

was  the  man. 


VIII. 

'By  the  gods  of  the  ancients  ! '  Glen- 
riddel replies, 

'  Before  I  surrender  so  glorious  a  prize, 

I  '11  conjure  the  ghost  of  the  great 
Rorie  More, 

And  bumper  his  horn  with  him 
twenty  times  o'er.' 

IX. 

Sir    Robert,    a    soldier,    no    speech 

would  pretend, 
But  he  ne'er  turn'd  his  back  on  his 

foe,  or  his  friend  ; 
Said  :  — '  Toss  down  the  Whistle,  the 

prize  of  the  field,' 
And,  knee-deep  in   claret,  he  'd   die 

ere  he  'd  yield. 


X. 

To  the  board  of  Glenriddel  our  heroes 

repair. 
So  noted  for  drowning  of  sorrow  and 

care ; 
But   for  wine   and  for  welcome  not 

more  known  to  fame 
Than  the  sense,  wit,  and  taste,  of  a 

sweet  lovely  dame. 


XI. 

A  Bard  was  selected  to  witness  the 

fray 
And  tell  future  ages  the  feats  of  the 

day; 
A  Bard  who  detested  all  sadness  and 

spleen 
And  wish'd  that  Parnassus  a  vineyard 

had  been. 


XII. 

The  dinner  being  over,  the  claret  they 

ply' 

And  ev'ry  new  cork  is  a  new  spring  of 

joy;  .  ' 

In  the  bands  of  old  friendship  and 

kindred  so  set. 
And  the  bands  grew  the  tighter  the 

more  they  were  wet. 

XIII. 

Gay  Pleasure  ran  riot  as  bumpers  ran 
o'er; 

Bright  Phoebus  ne'er  witness'd  so  joy- 
ous a  core, 

And  vow'd  that  to  leave  them  he  was 
quite  forlorn, 

Till  Cynthia  hinted  he  'd  see  them  next 
morn. 

XIV. 

Six  bottles  a-piece  had  well  wore  out 

the  night, 
When  gallant  Sir  Robert,  to  finish  the 

fight, 
Turn'd  o'er  in  one  bumper  a  bottle  of 

red, 
And  swore  'twas  the  way  that  their 

ancestor  did. 

XV. 

Then  worthy  Glenriddel,  so  cautious 

and  sage, 
No  longer  the  warfare  ungodly  would 

wage : 
A  high  Ruling  Elder  to  wallow  in  wine ! 
He  left  the  foul  business  to  folks  less 

divine. 

XVI. 

The  gallant  Sir  Robert  fought  hard  to 

the  end ; 

But  who  can  with  Fate  and  quart 
bumpers  contend? 

Though  Fate  said,  a  hero  should  per- 
ish in  light ; 

So  uprose  bright  Phoebus  —  and  down 
fell  the  knigfht. 


THE  JOLLY   BEGGARS. 


Ill 


XVII. 

Next  uprose  our  Bard,  like  a  prophet 

in  drink  :  — 
*  Craigdarroch,  thou  'It  soar  when  crea- 

tion  shall  sink  ! 
But  if  thou  would  flourish  immortal  in 

rhyme. 
Come  —  one  bottle  more  —  and  have 

at  the  sublime  ! 


XVIII. 


struggled 


for 


'Thy  line,    that   have 
freedom  with  Bruce, 

Shall  heroes  and  patriots  ever  pro- 
duce : 

So  thine  be  the  laurel,  and  mine  be 
the  bay ; 

The  field  thou  hast  won,  by  yon  bright 
God  of  Dav!' 


THE  JOLLY   BEGGARS. 

A   CANTATA. 

[This  poem  was  suggested  to  Burns  by  a 
chance  visit,  in  company  with  Richmond 
and  Smith,  to  the  "  doss-house"  of  Poosie 
Nansie,  as  Agnes  Gibson  was  nicknamed, 
in  the  Cowgate,  Mauchiine.  The  joHity  of 
the  vagrants  amused  the  poet,  and  he  com- 
posed the  "  Jolly  Beggars  "  a  few  days  after- 
wards. Matthew  Arnold  calls  it  a  "  puissant 
and  splendid  production."    See  Notes.] 

RECITATIVO. 
I. 

When  lyart  leaves  bestrow  the  yird, 
Or,  wavering  like  the  bauckie-bird. 

Bedim  cauld  Boreas'  blast ; 
When  hailstanes  drive  wi'  bitter  skyte, 
And  infant  frosts  begin  to  bite, 

In  hoary  cranreuch  drest ; 
Ae  night  at  e'en  a  merry  core 

O'  randie,  gangrel  bodies 
In  Poosie-Nansie's  held  the  splore. 

To  drink  their  orra  duddies : 
Wi'  quaffing  and  laughing. 
They  ranted  an'  they  sang, 


Wi'  jumping  an'  thumping 
The  vera  girdle  rang. 

II. 

First,  niest  the  fire,  in  auld  red  rags 
Ane  sat,  weel  brac'd  wi'  mealy  bags 

And  knapsack  a'  in  order; 
His  doxy  lay  within  his  arm  ; 
Wi'  usquebae  an'  blankets  warm, 

She  blinket  on  her  sodger. 
An'  ay  he  gies  the  tozie  drab 

The  tither  skelpin  kiss, 
While  she  held  up  her  greedy  gab 
Just  like  an  aumous  dish  : 
Ilk  smack  still  did  crack  still 
Like  onie  cadger's  whup  ; 
Then,  swaggering  an'  staggering, 
He  roar"d  this  ditty  up  :  — 

AIR. 
Tune  :  Soldier's  Joy. 


I  am  a  son  of  Mars,  who  have  been 
in  many  wars, 
And  show  my  cuts  and  scars  wher- 
ever I  come : 
This  here  was  for  a  wench,  and  that 
other  in  a  trench 
When  welcoming  the  French  at  the 
sound  of  the  drum. 

Lai  de  daudle,  etc. 

II. 

My  prenticeship   I   past,   where   my 
leader  breath'd  his  last. 
When  the  bloody  die  was  cast  on 
the  heights  of  Abram  ; 
And  I  served  out  my  trade  when  the 
gallant  game  was  play'd. 
And  the  Moro  low  was  laid  at  the 
sound  of  the  drum. 

III. 

I   lastly  was  with  Curtis  among  the 
floating  batt'ries, 
And  there  I  left  for  witness  an  arm 
and  a  limb ; 


112 


THE  JOLLY   BEGGARS. 


Yet  let    my  country  need    me,  with 
Eliott  to  head  me 
I  'd  clatter   on   my  stumps  at  the 
sound  of  the  drum. 

rv. 

And   now,  tho'   I   must  beg  with  a 
w^ooden  arm  and  leg 
And  many  a  tatterM  rag  hanging 
over  my  bum, 
I  'm   as   happy   with   my  wallet,   my 
bottle,  and  my  callet 
As  when  I  us'd  in  scarlet  to  follow 
a  drum. 

V. 

What   tho'  with  hoary  locks  I  must 
stand  the  winter  shocks. 
Beneath  the  woods  and  rocks  often- 
times for  a  home? 
When  the  tother  bag  I  sell,  and  the 
tother  bottle  tell, 
I  could  meet  a  troop  of  Hell  at  the 
sound  of  a  drum. 

Lai  de  daudle,  etc. 

REGIT  ATI  VO. 

He  ended  ;  and  the  kebars  sheuk 

Aboon  the  chorus  roar ; 
While  frighted  rattons  backward  leuk. 

An'  seek  the  benmost  bore  : 
A  fairy  fiddler  frae  the  neuk, 

He  skirPd  out  Encore  I 
But  up  arose  the  martial  chuck, 

An'  laid  the  loud  uproar :  — 

AIR. 

Tune  :  Sodger  Laddie, 

I. 

I  once  was  a  maid,  tho'  I  cannot  tell 

when, 
And   still    my   delight    is   in   proper 

young  men. 
Some  one  of  a  troop  of  dragoons  was 

my  daddie : 


No   wonder   I  'm   fond   of   a   sodger 


laddie  1 


Sing,  lal  de  dal,  etc. 


II. 

The  first  of  my  loves  was  a  swagger- 
ing blade : 

To  rattle  the  thundering  dioim  was 
his  trade ; 

His  leg  was  so  tight,  and  his  cheek 
was  so  ruddy, 

Transported  I  was  with  my  sodger 
laddie. 

III. 

But  the  godly  old  chaplain  left  him 

in  the  lurch  ; 
The  sword  I  forsook  for  the  sake  of 

the  church  ; 
He  risked  the   soul,  and  I   ventured 

the  body : 
'T  was    then    I    prov'd    false    to    my 

sodger  laddie. 

IV. 

Full  soon  I  grew  sick  of  my  sanctified 

sot; 
The  regiment  at  large  for  a  husband 

I  got ; 
From  the  gilded  spontoon  to  the  fife 

I  was  ready : 
I  asked  no  more  but  a  sodger  laddie. 


But  the  Peace  it  reduced  me  to  beg  in 
despair. 

Till  I  met  my  old  boy  in  a  Cunning- 
ham Fair ; 

His  rags  regimental  they  fiutter'd  so 
gaudy : 

My  heart  it  rejoiced  at  a  sodger 
laddie. 

VI. 

And  now  I  have  liv'd  —  I  know  not 

how  long  ! 
But  still  I  can  join  in  a  cup  and  a 

song ; 


THE  JOLLY   BEGGARS. 


"3 


And  whilst  with   both    hands  I  can 

hold  the  glass  steady, 
Here 's  to  thee,  my  hero,  my  sodger 

laddie ! 

Sing,  lal  de  dal,  etc. 

RECITATIVO. 

Poor  Merr^-Andrew  in  the  neuk 

Sat  guzzling  wi'  a  tinkler-hizzie  ; 
They  mind't  na  wha  the  chorus  teuk. 
Between  themselves  they  were  sae 

busy. 
At  length,   wi'  drink  an'   courting 
dizzy. 
He  stoiter'd  up  an'  made  a  face  ; 
Then  turn'd  an'  laid  a  smack  on 
Grizzle, 
Syne  tun'd  his  pipes  wi'  grave  grim- 
ace:  — 

AIR. 

Tune:  Auld Sir Symon. 

I. 

Sir  Wisdom's  a  fool  when  he's  fou  ; 

Sir  Knave  is  a  fool  in  a  session : 
He 's  there  but  a  prentice  I  trow, 

But  I  am  a  fool  by  profession. 

II, 

My  grannie  she  bought  me  a  beuk, 
An'  I  held  awa  to  the  school : 

I  fear  I  my  talent  misteuk, 

But  what  will  ye  hae  of  a  fool  ? 

III. 

For  drink  I  w-ad  venture  my  neck ; 

A  hizzie  's  the  half  of  my  craft : 
But  what  could  ye  other  expect 

Of  ane  that 's  avowedly  daft  .'* 

IV. 

I  ance  was  tyed  up  like  a  stirk 

For  civilly  swearing  and  quaffing ; 

I  ance  was  abus'd  i'  the  kirk 
For  towsing  a  lass  i'  my  daffin. 


V. 


Poor  Andrew  that  tumbles  for  sport 
Let  naebody  name  wi'  a  jeer  : 

There 's  even,  1  'm  tauld,  i'  the  Court 
A  tumbler  ca'd  the  Premier. 


VI. 

Observ'd  ye  yon  reverend  lad 
Mak  faces  to  tickle  the  mob? 

He  rails  at  our  mountebank  squad  — 
It 's  rivalship  just  i'  the  job ! 


VII. 

And  now  my  conclusion  I  '11  tell, 
For  faith !  I  *m  confoundedly  dry  : 

The  chiel  that 's  a  fool  for  himsel, 
Guid  Lord  !  he's  far  dafter  than  L 


RECITATIVO. 

Then  niest  outspak  a  raucle  carlin, 
Wha  kent  fu'  weel  to  cleek  the  sterlin. 
For  monie  a  pursie  she  had  liooked. 
An'  had  in  monie  a  well  been  douked. 
Her  love  had  been  a  Highland  laddie. 
But  weary  fa'  the  waefu'  woodie! 
Wi'  sighs  an'  sobs  she  thus  began 
To  wail   her   braw  John   Highland- 
man  :  — 

AIR. 

Tune  :  0,  An'  Ye  Were  Dead,  Guidman. 

I. 

A  Highland  lad  my  love  was  born. 
The  lalland  laws  he  held  in  scorn, 
But  he  still  was  faithfu'  to  his  clan, 
My  gallant,  braw  John  Highlandman. 

Cho7'us. 

Sing  hey  my  braw  John  Highlandman ! 
Sing  ho  my  braw  John  Highlandman! 
There  's  not  a  lad  in  a'  the  Ian' 
Was  match  for  my  John  Highlandman'" 


114 


THE  JOLLY   BEGGARS. 


II. 


With  his  philibeg,  an'  tartan  plaid, 
An'  guid  claymore  down  by  his  side, 
The  ladies'  hearts  he  did  trepan. 
My  gallant,  braw  John  Highlandman. 


III. 


We  ranged  a'  from  Tweed  to  Spey, 
An'  liv'd  like  lords  an'  ladies  gay. 
For  a  lalland  face  he  feared  none, 
My  gallant,  braw  John  Highlandman. 


IV. 


They  banish'd  him  beyond  the  sea. 
But  ere  the  bud  was  on  the  tree, 
Adown  my  cheeks  the  pearls  ran. 
Embracing  my  John  Highlandman. 


But,  Och!  they  catch'd  him  at  the  last. 
And  bound  him  in  a  dungeon  fast. 
My  curse  upon  them  every  one  — 
They  've  hang'd  my  braw  John  High- 
landman ! 

VI. 

And  now  a  widow  I  must  mourn 
The  pleasures  that  will  ne'er  return ; 
No  comfort  but  a  hearty  can 
When  I  think  on  John  Highlandman. 

Chorus. 

Sing  hey  my  braw  John  Highlandman! 
Sing  ho  my  braw  John  Highlandman! 
There 's  not  a  lad  in  a'  the  Ian' 
Was  match  for  my  John  Highlandman ! 

RECITATIVO. 
I. 

A  pigmy  scraper  on  a  fiddle, 

Wha  us'd  to  trystes  an'  fairs  to  drid- 

dle. 
Her  strappin  limb  an'  gawsie  middle 

(He  reach'd  nae  higher) 
Had  hol'd  his  heartie  like  a  riddle. 
An'  blawn  't  on  fire. 


II. 

Wi'  hand  on  hainch  and  upward  e'e, 
He  croon'd  his  gamut,  one,  two,  three, 
Then  in  an  arioso  key 

The  wee  Apollo 
Set  off  wi'  allegretto  glee 

His  giga  solo  :  — 

AIR. 

Tune  :    Whistle  Owre  the  Lave  O  't. 


Let  me  ryke  up  to  dight  that  tear ; 
An'  go  wi'  me  an'  be  my  dear, 
An'  then  your  every  care  an'  fear 
May  whistle  owre  the  lave  o  "t. 

Chorus. 

I  am  a  fiddler  to  my  trade, 
An'  a'  the  tunes  that  e'er  I  play'd. 
The  sweetest  still  to  wife  or  maid 
Was  Whistle  Owre  the  Lave  O '/. 


II. 

At  kirns  an'  weddins  we  'se  be  there, 
An'  O,  sae  nicely 's  we  will  fare  ! 
We  11  bowse  about  till  Daddie  Care 
Sing  Whistle  Oivre  the  Lave  OH. 

-     III. 

Sae  merrily  the  banes  we  '11  pyke. 
An'  sun  oursels  about  the  dyke ; 
An'  at  our  leisure,  when  ye  like, 
We'll  —  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't! 

IV. 

But  bless  me  wi'  your  heav'n  o'  charms, 
An'  while  I  kittle  hair  on  thairms. 
Hunger,  cauld,  an'  a'  sic  harms 
May  whistle  owre  the  lave  o  't. 

Chorus. 

I  am  a  fiddler  to  my  trade. 
An'  a'  the  tunes  that  e'er  I  play'd, 
The  sweetest  still  to  wife  or  maid 
Was  Whistle  Owre  the  Lave  O't. 


THE  JOLLY   BEGGARS. 


"5 


RECITATIVO. 
I. 

Her  charms  had  struck  a  sturdy  caird 

As  weel  as  poor  gut-scraper ; 
He  taks  the  fiddler  by  the  beard, 

An'  draws  a  roosty  rapier ; 
He  swoor  by  a'  was  swearing  worth 

To  speet  him  Hke  a  pliver, 
Unless  he  would  from  that  time  forth 

Relinquish  her  for  ever. 

II. 

Wi'  ghastly  e'e  poor  Tweedle-Dee 

Upon  his  hunkers  bended. 
An'  pray'd  for  grace  wi'  ruefu"  face, 

An'  sae  the  quarrel  ended. 
But  tho'  his  little  heart  did  grieve 

When  round  the  tinkler  prest  her, 
He  feign'd  to  snirtle  in  his  sleeve 

When    thus    the    caird    address'd 
her:  — 

AIR. 

TUNE:  Clout  the  Cauldron. 

I. 

My  bonie  lass,  I  work  in  brass, 

A  tinkler  is  my  station  ; 
I  Ve    travell'd    round    all    Christian 
ground 

In  this  my  occupation  ; 
I  Ve  taen  the  gold,  an'  been  enrolled 

In  many  a  noble  squadron  ; 
But  vain   they   search'd  when    off  I 
march'd 

To  go  an'  clout  the  cauldron. 

II. 

Despise   that    shrimp,   that  wither'd 
imp. 

With  a'  his  noise  an'  cap'rin. 
An'  take  a  share  wi'  those  that  bear 

The  budget  and  the  apron  ! 
And    by   that    stowp,    my   faith    an' 
houpe  ! 

And  by  that  dear  Kilbaigie  ! 
If  e'er  ye  want,  or  meet  wi'  scant, 

May  I  ne'er  weet  my  craigie! 


RECITATIVO. 
I. 

The   caird  prevail'd :    th'  unblushing 
fair 

In  his  embraces  sunk, 
Partly  wi'  love  o'ercome  sae  sair, 

An'  partly  she  was  drunk. 
Sir  Violino,  with  an  air 

That  show'd  a  man  o'  spunk. 
Wished  unison  between  the  pair. 

An'  made  the  bottle  clunk 

To  their  health  that  night. 

II. 

But  hurchin  Cupid  shot  a  shaft. 

That  play'd  a  dame  a  shavie  : 
The  fiddler  rak'd  her  fore  and  aft 

Behint  the  chicken  cavie  ; 
Her  lord,  a  wight  of  Homer's  craft, 

Tho'  limpin'  wi'  the  spavie, 
He  hirpl'd  up,  an'  lap  like  daft, 

An'  shor'd  them  '  Dainty  Davie ' 
O"  boot  that  night. 

III. 
He  was  a  care-defying  blade 

As  ever  Bacchus  listed ! 
Tho'  Fortune  sair  upon  him  laid, 

His  heart,  she  ever  miss'd  it. 
He  had  no  wish  but  —  to  be  glad. 

Nor  want  but  —  when  he  thristed. 
He  hated  nought  but  —  to  be  sad; 

An'  thus  the  Muse  suggested 
His  sang  that  night. 

AIR. 

Tune  :  For  A'  That  An  A'  That. 
I. 

I  am  a  Bard,  of  no  regard 
Wi'  gentle  folks  an'  a'  that, 

But  Homer-like  the  glowrin  byke, 
Frae  town  to  town  I  draw  that. 

C/iorus. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 

An'  twice  as  muckle  's  a'  that. 
I  've  lost  but  ane,  I  've  twa  behin', 

I  've  wife  eneugh  for  a'  that. 


n6 


THE  JOLLY   BEGGARS. 


II. 


I  never  drank  the  Muses'  stank, 
Castalia's  burn,  an'  a'  that ; 

But  there  it  streams,  an'  richly  reams 
My  Helicon  I  ca'  that. 


III. 


Great  love  I  bear  to  a'  the  fair, 
Their  humble  slave  an'  a'  that ; 

But  lordly  will,  I  hold  it  still 
A  mortal  sin  to  thraw  that. 


IV. 


In  raptures  sweet  this  hour  we  meet 
Wi'  mutual  love  an'  a'  that ; 

But  for  how  lang  the  flie  may  stang, 
Let  inclination  law  that ! 

V. 

Their  tricks  an'  craft  hae  put  me  daft, 
They  've  taen  me  in,  an'  a'  that ; 

But  clear  your  decks,  an'  here's  the 
Sex!      ^ 
I  like  the  jads  for  a'  that. 

Chorus. 

For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 

An'  twice  as  muckle  's  a'  that, 
My  dearest  bluid,  to  do  them  guid. 

They  're  welcome  till 't  for  a'  that! 

RECITATIVO. 

So  sung  the  Bard,  and  Nansie's  wa's 
Shook  with  a  thunder  of  applause, 

Re-echo'd  from  each  mouth! 
They  toom'd  their  pocks,  they  pawn'd 

their  duds, 
They  scarcely  left  to  coor  their  fuds, 

To  quench  their  lowin  drouth. 
Then  owre  again  the  jovial  thrang 

The  Poet  did  request 
To  lowse  his  pack,  an'  wale  a  sang, 
A  ballad  o'  the  best : 
He  rising,  rejoicing 

Between  his  twa  Deborahs, 

Looks  round  him,  an'  found  them 

Impatient  for  the  chorus  :  — 


AIR. 

Tune  :  Jolly  Mortals,  Fill  Your  Glasses. 
I. 

See  the  smoking  bowl  before  us! 

Mark  our  jovial,  ragged  ring! 
Round  and  round  take  up  the  chorus, 

And  in  raptures  let  us  sing : 

Choriis. 
A  fig  for  those  by  law  protected  ! 

Liberty  's  a  glorious  feast, 
Courts  for  cowards  were  erected, 

Churches  built  to  please  the  priest! 

II. 

What  is  title,  what  is  treasure. 
What  is  reputation's  care  ? 

If  we  lead  a  life  of  pleasure, 
'T  is  no  matter  how  or  where! 

III. 
With  the  ready  trick  and  fable 

Round  we  wander  all  the  day ; 
And  at  night  in  barn  or  stable 

Hug  our  doxies  on  the  hay. 

IV. 

Does  the  train-attended  carriage 
Thro'  the  country  lighter  rove? 

Does  the  sober  bed  of  marriage 
Witness  brighter  scenes  of  love  ? 

V. 

Life  is  all  a  variorum. 

We  regard  not  how  it  goes  ; 

Let  them  prate  about  decorum, 
Who  have  character  to  lose 


:'^ 


VI. 


Here's  to  budgets,  bags,  and  wallets! 

Here's  to  all  the  wandering  train! 
Here  's  our  ragged  brats  and  callets  ! 

One  and  all,  cry  out.  Amen  ! 

Chonis. 
A  fig  for  those  by  law  protected! 

Liberty 's  a  glorious  feast. 
Courts  for  cowards  were  erected. 

Churches  built  to  please  the  priest! 


THE  TWA   HERDS:    OR,   THE   HOLY  TULYIE. 


•117 


SATIRES   AND   VERSES. 


THE   TWA   HERDS:    OR, 
HOLY  TULYIE. 


THE 


AN  UNCO   MOURNFU'   TALE. 

Blockheads  with  reason  loicked  wits  abhor. 
But  fool  with  fool  is  barbarous  civil  war, 

—Pope. 

["  This  is  one  of  the  earliest  of  Burns's 
'  priest-skelping  turns.'  The  ferment  of  pop- 
ular hatred  of  John  Knox  (sometimes  ex- 
pressed orally  in  his  lifetime)  at  last  informs 
a  Scotch  poem.  Burns  says,  '  With  a  cer- 
tain description  of  the  clergy  as  well  as 
laity,  it  met  with  a  roar  of  applause.'  He 
did  not  publish  it.  The  '  herds '  were 
Mr.  Moodie  (of  Riccarton)  and  Mr.  John 
Russell  (of  Kilmarnock).  The  quarrel  was 
about  parish  boundaries.  The  right  of '  the 
brutes  to  choose  their  herds '  ought  to 
have  commended  itself  to  a  democrat ;  but 
Burns's  politics  were  never  consistent,  and 
the  '  New  Lights '  were  his  personal  friends." 
—  Andrew  Lang.] 


O  a'  ye  pious  godly  flocks, 
Weel  fed  on  pastures  orthodox, 
Wha  now  will  keep  you  frae  the  fox 

Or  worrying  tykes  ? 
Or  wha  will  tent  the  waifs  an'  crocks 

About  the  dykes? 


II. 

The  twa  best  herds  in  a'  the  wast, 
That  e'er  gae  gospel  horn  a  blast 
These  five  an'  twenty  simmers  past  — 

O,  dool  to  tell !  — 
Hae  had  a  bitter,  black  out-cast 

Atween  themsel. 


m. 

O  Moodie.  man.  an'  wordy  Russell, 
How  could  you  raise  so  vile  a  bustle? 


Ye  '11  see  how  New  Light  herds  will 
whistle, 

An' think  it  fine! 
The  Lord's  cause  gat  na  sic  a  twistle 
Sin'  I  hae  min'. 


IV. 

O  Sirs  !  whae'er  wad  hae  expeckit 
Your  duty  ye  wad  sae  negleckit  ? 
Ye  wha  were  no  by  lairds  respeckit 

To  wear  the  plaid, 
But  by  the  brutes  themselves  eleckit 

To  be  their  guide  ! 


V. 

What  flock  wi'  Moodie's  flock  could 

rank, 
Sae  hale  an'  hearty  eveiy  shank? 
Nae  poison'd,  soor  Arminian  stank 

He  let  them  taste ; 
But     Calvin's      fountainhead     they 
drank  — 

O,  sic  a  feast ! 

VI. 

The  thummart,  wilcat,  brock,  an'  tod 
Weel  ken  his  voice  thro'  a'  the  wood  ; 
He  smell'd  their  ilka  hole  an'  road, 

Baith  out  and  in  ; 
An'  weel  he  lik'd  to  shed  their  bluid 

An'  sell  their  skin. 

VII. 

What    herd    like    Russell   tell'd   his 

tale  ? 
His  voice  was  heard  thro'  muir  and 

dale ; 
He  kend  the  Lord's  sheep,  ilka  tail, 

O'er  a'  the  height : 
An'  tell'd  gin  they  were  sick  or  hale 
At  the  first  sight. 


Jl! 


THE  TWA   HERDS:    OR,  THE   HOLY  TULYIE. 


VIII. 

He  fine  a  mangy  sheep  could  scrub  ; 
Or  nobly  swing  the  gospel  club  ; 
Or    New-Light    herds    could    nicely 
drub 

And  pay  their  skin  ; 
Or  hing  them  o'er  the  burning  dub 

Or  heave  them  in. 


IX. 

Sic  twa  —  O,  do  I  live  to  see't  ?  — 
Sic  famous  twa  sud  disagree  % 
An'  names  like  villain,  hypocrite, 

Ilk  ither  gi'en, 
While  New-Light  herds  wi'  laughin 
spite 

Say  neither 's  liein! 


A'  ye  wha  tent  the  gospel  fauld, 
Thee  Duncan  deep,  an'  Peebles  shaul', 
But  chiefly  great  apostle  Auld, 

We  trust  in  thee, 
That   thou  wilt  work   them  hot  an' 
cauld 

Till  they  agree  ! 


XI. 

Consider,  sirs,  how  we  're  beset : 
There 's  scarce  a  new  herd  that  we 

get 
But  comes  frae  'mang  that  cursed  set 

I  winna  name : 
I  hope  frae  heav'n  to  see  them  yet 

In  fiery  flame  ! 


XII. 

Dalrymple  has  been  lang  our  fae, 
M'Gill  has  wrought  us  meikle  wae. 
An'  that  curs'd  rascal  ca'd  M'Quhae, 

An'  baith  the  Shaws, 
That  aft  hae  made  us  black  an'  blae 

Wi'  vengefu'  paws. 


XIII. 

Auld  Wodrow  lang  has  hatched  mis- 
chief: 
We  thought  ay  death  wad  bring  re- 
lief. 
But  he  has  gotten  to  our  grief 

Ane  to  succeed  him, 
A   chield  wha '11    soundly    buff    our 
beef  — 

I  meikle  dread  him. 


XIV. 

An'  monie  mae  that  I  could  tell, 
Wha  fain  would  openly  rebel, 
Forby  turn-coats  amang  oursel : 

There 's  Smith  for  ane  — 
I  doubt  he 's  but  a  greyneck  still, 

An'  that  ye  '11  fin'  ! 


XV. 

O  a'  ye  flocks  o'er  a'  the  hills. 
By  mosses,  meadows,  moors,  an'  fells. 
Come,  join   your   counsel   and   your 
skills 

To  cowe  the  lairds, 
An'  get  the  bmtes  the  power  themsels 

To  chuse  their  herds  ! 


XVI. 

Then  Orthodoxy  yet  may  prance, 
An'  Learning  in  a  woody  dance. 
An'  that  fell  cur  ca'd  Common-sense, 

That  bites  sae  sair, 
Be  banish'd  o'er  the  sea  to  France  — 

Let  him  bark  there  ! 


XVII. 

Then    Shaw's    an'    D'rymple's    elo- 
quence, 
M'Gill's  close,  nervous  excellence, 
M'Quhae's  pathetic,  manly  sense, 

An'  guid  M'Math 
Wha  thro'  the  heart  can  brawly  glance, 

May  a'  pack  aff ! 


HOLY   WILLIE'S   PRAYER. 


119 


HOLY   WILLIE'S   PRAYER. 

And  send  the  godly  in  a  pet  to  pray. 

—  Pope. 


["  This  attack  on  Calvinism  dates  be- 
tween August,  1784,  when  Hamilton  was 
threatened  with  a  form  of  excommunica- 
tion, and  July,  1785,  when  the  case  ended 
(Scott  Douglas).  The  Presbytery  of  Ayr 
freed  him  from  ecclesiastical  censure  for 
the  time.  Later  he  was  accused  of  having 
potatoes  dug  on  Sunday.  His  own  servants 
were  brought  as  witnesses  against  him ! 
Bums,  naturally,  never  included  the  poem 
among  his  works.  Willie  was  William 
Fisher,  an  Elder  in  Mauchline.  M.  Angel- 
lier  discovered  that  he  was  employed  as  a 
Presbyterian  Inquisitor  on  Jean  Armour's 
case.  If  he  died  in  a  ditch,  after  a  debauch, 
as  is  said,  Burns,  too,  is  said,  shortly  before 
his  death,  'to  have  fallen  asleep  on  the 
snow,  on  his  way  home '  from  '  a  tavern 
dinner'  (Lockhart).  There  is  a  similar 
story  in  the  Legend  of  Shakspeare. 

"  The  MSS.  and  printed  copies  differ  in 
many  places  from  each  other.  The  com- 
mon text  is  that  of  Stewart's  editions.  The 
sixth  verse  first  appears  in  that  of  1802."  — 
Andrew  Lang.] 


O  Thou  that  in  the  heavens  does 

dwell, 
Wha,  as  it  pleases  best  Th5'sel, 
Sends  ane  to  Heaven  an'  ten  to  Hell 

A'  for  Thy  glory, 
And  no  for  onie  guid  or  ill 

They've  done  before  Thee! 


n. 

I   bless   and   praise   Thy  matchless 

might, 
When  thousands  Thou  hast  left  in 

night. 
That  I  am  here  before  Thy  sight. 

For  gifts  an'  grace 
A  burning  and  a  shining  light 
To  a'  this  place. 


III. 

What  was  I,  or  my  generation, 
That  I  should  get  sic  exaltation  ? 
I,  wha  deserv'd  most  just  damnation 

For  broken  laws 
Sax  thousand  years  ere  my  creation, 

Thro'  Adam's  cause  ! 

rv. 

When  from  my  mither's  womb  I  fell, 
Thou  might  hae  plung'd  me  deep  in 

hell 
To  gnash  my  gooms,  and  weep,  and 
wail 

In  burning  lakes, 
Whare  damned  devils  roar  and  yell, 
Chain'd  to  their  stakes. 


Yet  I  am  here,  a  chosen  sample. 

To    show   Thy   grace    is   great   and 

ample : 
I  'm  here  a  pillar  o'  Thy  temple, 

Strong  as  a  rock, 
A  guide,  a  buckler,  and  example 

To  a' Thy  flock! 

VI. 

But  yet,  O  Lord'  confess  I  must : 
At  times  I  'm  fash'd  wi'  fleshly  lust ; 
An'  sometimes,  too,  in  warldly  trust, 

Vile  self  gets  in  ; 
But  Thou  remembers  we  are  dust, 

Defiled  wi'  sin. 

VII. 

O   Lord !    yestreen,  Thou   kens,  wi' 

Meg  — 
Thy  pardon  I  sincerely  beg  — 
O,  may 't  ne'er  be  a  living  plague 

To  my  dishonour! 
An'  I  '11  ne'er  lift  a  lawless  leg 

Again  upon  her. 

VIII. 

Besides,  I  farther  maun  avow  — 
Wi'  Leezie's  lass,  three  times,  I  trow  — 


120 


THE  KIRK'S  ALARM. 


But,  Lord,  that  Friday  I  was  fou, 
When  I  cam  near  her, 

Or  else,  Thou  kens.  Thy  servant  true 
Wad  never  steer  her. 

IX. 

Maybe  thou  lets  this  fleshly  thorn 
Buffet  thy  servant  e'en  and  morn, 
Lest  he  owre  proud  and  high  should 
turn 

That  he 's  sae  gifted  : 
If  sae,  Thy  han'  maun  e'en  be  borne 

Until  Thou  lift  it. 

X. 

Lord,  bless  Thy  chosen  in  this  place. 
For  here  Thou  has  a  chosen  race! 
But  God  confound  their  stubborn  face 

An'  blast  their  name, 
Wha  bring  Thy  elders  to  disgrace 

An'  open  shame! 

XI. 

Lord,  mind  Gau'n  Hamilton's  deserts  : 
He  drinks,  an'  swears,  an'  plays  at 

cartes, 
Yet  has  sae  monie  takin  arts 

Wi'  great  and  sma', 
Frae   God's  ain  Priest   the  people's 
hearts 

He  steals  awa. 

XII. 

And  when  we  chasten'd  him  therefore, 
Thou  kens  how  he  bred  sic  a  splore. 
And  set  the  warld  in  a  roar 

O'  laughin  at  us  : 
Curse  Thou  his  basket  and  his  store. 

Kail  an'  potatoes! 

XIII. 

Lord,  hear  my  earnest  cry  and  pray'r 
Against  that  Presbyt'ry  of  Ayr! 
Thy  strong  right  hand.  Lord,  mak  it 
bare 

Upo'  their  heads ! 
Lord,  visit  them,  an'  dinna  spare. 

For  their  misdeeds! 


XIV. 

O  Lord,  my  God!   that  glib-tongu'd 

Aiken, 
My  vera  heart  and  flesh  are  quakin 
To    think    how   we    stood    sweatin, 
shakin. 

An'  pish'd  wi'  dread, 
While  he,  wi'  hingin  lip  an'  snakin. 
Held  up  his  head. 

XV. 

Lord,  in  Thy  day  o'  vengeance  try  him ! 
Lord,  visit  him  wha  did  employ  hini! 
And  pass  not  in  Thy  mercy  by  them. 

Nor  hear  their  pray'r, 
But  for  Thy  people's  sake  destroy  them, 

An'  dinna  spare! 

XVI. 

But,  Lord,  remember  me  and  mine 
Wi'  mercies  temporal  and  divine. 
That  I  for  grace  an'  gear  may  shine 

Excell'd  by  nane ; 
And  a'  the  glory  shall  be  Thine  — 

Amen,  Amen! 


THE   KIRK'S   ALARM. 

[The  occasion  of  this  satire  was  the  pub- 
lication of  an  essay  on  "  The  Death  of  Jesus 
Christ,"  by  Dr.  William  M'Gill,  one  of  the 
ministers  of  Ayr.  A  complaint  against  the 
essay,  as  being  heterodox,  was  presented  on 
April  15  to  the  Synod  of  Glasgow  and  Ayr. 
The  synod  referred  the  case  to  the  Pres- 
bytery of  Ayr.  The  matter  was  finally 
compromised  by  M'Gill's  offering  an  ex- 
planation and  apology,  which  the  synod  ac- 
cepted.    M'Gill  died  March  30,  1807.] 


Orthodox!  orthodox!  — 
Wha  believe  in  John  Knox  — 
Let  me  sound  an  alarm  to  your  con- 
science : 
A  heretic  blast 
Has  been  blawn  i'  the  Wast, 


THE  KIRK'S  ALARM. 


rsi 


That  what  is  not  sense  must  be  non- 
sense — 

Orthodox! 

That  what  is  not  sense  must  be  non- 
sense. 

II. 

Dr.  Mac!  Dr.  Mac! 

You  should  stretch  on  a  rack, 
To  strike  wicked  Writers  wi'  terror : 

To  join  faith  and  sense, 

Upon  onie  pretence. 
Was  heretic,  damnable  error  — 

Dr.  Mac! 
'T  was  heretic,  damnable  error. 

III. 

Town  of  Ayr  !  Town  of  Ayr  I 

It  was  rash,  I  declare, 
To  meddle  wi'  mischief  a-brewing : 

Provost  John  is  still  deaf 

To  the  church's  relief, 
And  Orator  Bob  is  its  ruin  — ■ 

Town  of  Ayr  ! 
And  Orator  Bob  is  its  ruin. 

IV. 

D'rymple  mild  !  DVymple  mild  ! 
Tho'  your  heart 's  like  a  child, 
An'    your    life    like   the   new-driven 
snaw, 
Yet  that  winna  save  ye  : 
Auld  Satan  must  have  ye. 
For  jDreaching  that  three 's  ane  and 
twa  — 

D'rymple  mild  ! 
For  preaching  that  three's  ane  and 
twa. 


Calvin's  sons!  Calvin's  sons! 
Seize  your  spiritual  guns. 
Ammunition  you  never  can  need  : 
Your  hearts  are  the  stuff 
Will  be  powther  enough, 
And  your  skulls   are  store-houses  o' 
lead  — 

Calvin's  sons! 
Your  skulls  are  store-houses  o'  lead. 


VI. 

Rumble  John!  Rumble  John! 
Mount  the  steps  with  a  groan, 
Cry :  —  ^  The     book     is    wi'     heresy 
cramm'd ' ; 
Then  lug  out  your  ladle, 
Deal  brimstone  like  adle. 
And  roar  every  note  o'  the  damn'd  — 

Rumble  John! 
And  roar  every  note  o'  the  damn'd. 

VII. 

Simper  James!  Simper  James! 
Leave  the  fair  Killie  dames  — 
There's  a  holier  chase  in  your  view: 
I  '11  lay  on  your  head 
That  the  pack  ye  '11  soon  lead, 
For    puppies    like   you    there's    but 
few  — 

Simper  James! 
For    puppies    like    you   there 's   but 
few. 

VIII. 

Singet  Sawnie!  Singet  Sawnie! 
•     Are  ye  herding  the  penny, 
Unconscious  what  evils  await? 

Wi'  a  jump,  yell,  and  howl        * 
Alarm  every  soul, 
For  the  Foul  Thief  is  just  at  your 
gate  — 

Singet  Sawnie  ! 
The  Foul  Thief  is  just  at  your  gate. 

IX. 

Daddie  Auld  !  Daddie  Auld  ! 

There 's  a  tod  in  the  fauld. 
A  tod  meikle  waur  than  the  clerk : 

Tho'  ye  can  do  little  skaith, 

Ye  '11  be  in  at  the  death, 
And  gif  ve  canna  bite,  ye  mav  bark  — 

Daddie  Auld  ! 
For  gif  ye  canna  bite  ye  may  bark. 

X. 

Davie  Rant!  Davie  Rant! 
In  a  face  like  a  saunt 


122 


THE  KIRK'S   ALARM. 


And  a  heart  that  would  poison  a  hog, 
Raise  an  impudent  roar, 
Like  a  breaker  lee-shore. 

Or  the  Kirk  will  be  tint  in  a  bog 
Davie  Rant  ! 

Or  the  Kirk  will  be  tint  in  a  bog. 

XI. 

Jamie  Goose  !  Jamie  Goose  ! 
Ye  hae  made  but  toom  roose 
In  hunting  the  wicked  lieutenant ; 
But  the  Doctor  's  your  mark. 
For  the  Lord's  haly  ark. 
He  has  coopered,  and  ca'd  a  wrang 
pin  in 't  — 

Jamie  Goose! 
He  has  coopered  and  ca'd  a   wrang 
pin  in  't. 

XII. 

Poet  Willie  !  Poet  Willie  ! 
Gie  the  Doctor  a  volley, 
Wi'  your  '  Liberty's  chain '  and  your 
wit : 
O'er  Pegasus'  side 
Ye  ne'er  laid  a  stride, 
Ye  but  smelt,  man,  the  place  where 
he  shit  — 
i-  Poet  Willie  ! 

Ye    smelt   but   the    place   where   he 
shit. 

XIII. 

Andro'  Gowk  !  Andro  Gowk  ! 
Ye  may  slander  the  Book, 
And  the  Book  not  the  waur,  let  me 
tell  ye : 
Ye  are  rich,  and  look  big, 
But  lay  by  hat  and  wig, 
And  ye '11  hae  a  calf's  head  o'  sma' 
value  — 

Andro  Gowk  ! 
Ye 'II  hae  a  calf's  head  o'  sma'  value. 

XIV. 

Barr  Steenie!  Barr  Steenie! 
What  mean  ye?  what  mean  ye? 
If   ye '11    meddle   nae    mair   wi'   the 
matter, 


Ye  may  hae  some  pretence 

To  havins  and  sense 
Wi'  people  wha  ken  ye  nae  better  — 

Barr  Steenie! 
Wi'  people  wha  ken  ye  nae  better. 

XV. 

Irvine-side!  Irvine-side! 

Wi'  your  turkey-cock  pride. 
Of  manhood  but  sma'  is  your  share  : 

Ye  've  the  figure,  't  is  true. 

Even  your  faes  will  allow, 
And  your  friends  daurna  say  ye  hae 

mair  — 

Irvine-side  ! 
Your  friends  daurna  say  ye  hae  mair. 

XVI. 

Muirland  Jock  !  Muirland  Jock  ! 

Whom  the  Lord  gave  a  stock 
Wad  set  up  a  tinkler  in  brass. 

If  ill  manners  were  wit. 

There 's  no  mortal  so  fit 
To  prove  the  poor  Doctor  an  ass  — 

Muirland  Jock! 
To  prove  the  poor  Doctor  an  ass. 

XVII. 

Holy  Will  !  Holy  Will  ! 

There  was  wit  i'  your  skull, 
When    ye   pilfer'd   the    alms   o'   the 
poor : 

The  timmer  is  scant. 

When  ye  're  taen  for  a  saunt 
Wha  should  swing  in  a  rape  for  an 

hour  — 

Holy  Will! 
Ye  should  swing  in  a  rape  for  an  hour. 

XVIII. 

Poet  Burns  !  Poet  Burns  ! 
Wi'  your  priest-skelping  turns, 
Why  desert  ye  yourauld  native  shire? 
Your  Muse  is  a  gipsy. 
Yet  were  she  ev'n  tipsy, 
She  could  ca'  us  nae  waur  than  we 
are  — 

Poet  Burns  ! 
Ye  could  ca'  us  nae  waur  than  we  are. 


A   POET'S    WELCOME  TO    HIS    LOVE-BEGOTl^EN   DAUGHTER.     123 


Postscripts 


Afton's  Laird  !  Afton's  Laird  I 
When  your  pen  can  be  spared, 
A  copy  of  this  I  bequeath, 
On  the  same  sicker  score 
As  I  mention'd  before. 
To  that    trusty  auld  worthy,  Clack- 
leith  — 

Afton's  Laird! 
To  that  trusty  auld  worthy,  Clackleith. 

II. 

Factor  John  !  Factor  John  ! 

Whom  the  Lord  made  alone, 
And  ne'er  made  another  thy  peer. 

Thy  poor  sen'ant,  the  Bard, 

In  respectful  regard 
He  presents  thee  this  token  sincere  — 

Factor  John  ! 
He  presents  thee  this  token  sincere. 


A   POET'S   W^ELCOME    TO    HIS 
LOVE-BEGOTTEN  DAUGHTER. 

THE  FIRST  INSTANCE  THAT  ENTITLED 
HIM  TO  THE  VENERABLE  APPELLA- 
TION   OF   FATHER. 

[The  "  wean  "  of  this  generous  and  de- 
lightful Address  was  the  poet's  daughter 
Elizabeth,  by  Elizabeth  Paton,  for  some 
time  a  servant  at  Lochlie.  The  child  was 
born  in  November,  1784.  She  was  brought 
by  her  father  to  Mossgiel.  She  married 
John  Bishop,  overseer  at  Polkemmet,  and 
died  8th  January,  1817,  leaving  several 
children.] 


Thou  *s  welcome,  wean!     Mishanter 

fa'  me, 
If  thoughts  o'  thee  or  yet  thy  mammie 
Shall  ever  daunton  me  or  awe  me. 

My  sweet,  wee  lady. 
Or  if  I  blush  when  thou  shalt  ca'  me 

Tyta  or  daddie  ! 


II. 

What  tho'  they  ca"  me  fornicator. 
An'  tease  my  name  in  kintra  clatter? 
The   mair  they  talk,   I  "m    kend   the 
better ; 

E'en  let  them  clash  I 
An'  auld  wife's  tongue's  a  feckless 
matter 

To  gie  ane  fash. 

III. 

Welcome,  my  bonie,  sweet,  wee  doch- 

ter! 
Tho'  ye  come  here  a  wee  unsousfht 

for. 
And  tho'  your  comin  I  hae  fought  for 

Baith  kirk  and  queir; 
Yet,  by  my  faith,  ye  "re  no  unwrought 
for  — 

That  I  shall  swear  ! 


IV. 

Sweet  fruit  o'  monie  a  merry  dint, 

Aly  funny  toil  is  no  a'  tint : 

Tho"  thou  cam  to  the  warl'  asklent. 

Which  fools  may  scoff  at, 
In  my  last  plack  thy  part 's  be  in  "t 

The  better  half  o  "t. 


V. 

Tho'  I  should  be  the  waur  bestead. 
Thou  's  be  as  braw  and  bienly  clad. 
And  thy  young  years  as  nicely  bred 

Wi'  education, 
As  onie  brat  o'  wedlock's  bed  - 

In  a'  thy  station. 

VI. 

Wee  image  o"  my  bonie  Bettv, 
As  fatherly  I  kiss  and  daut  thee. 
As    dear   and    near   my   heart    I   set 
thee, 

Wi'  as  guid  will. 
As    a"  the  priests  had  seen  me  get 
thee 

That  *s  out  o'  Hell. 


124 


THE  INVENTORY. 


VII. 

Gude  grant  that  thou  may  ay  inherit 
Thy  mither's  looks  an'  gracefu'  merit, 
An'  thy  poor,  worthless  daddie's  spirit 

Without  his  failins ! 
'T  will  please  me  mair  to  see  thee 
heir  it 

Than  stocket  mailins. 

VIII. 

And  if  thou  be  what  I  wad  hae  thee, 
An'  tak  the  counsel  I  shall  gie  thee, 
I  '11  never  rue  my  trouble  wi'  thee  — ■ 

The  cost  nor  shame  o  't  — 
But  be  a  loving  father  to  thee, 

And  braa:  the  name  o  't. 


THE   INVENTORY. 

IN   ANSWER   TO   A   MANDATE   BY   THE 
SURVEYOR   OF   TAXES. 

[The  "  Inventory  "  was  addressed  to  Mr. 
Robert  Aiken,  of  Ayr,  surveyor  of  taxes  for 
the  district,] 

Sir,  as  your  mandate  did  request, 
I  send  you  here  a  faithfu'  list 
O'  guids  and  gear  an'  a'  my  graith. 
To  which  I  'm  clear  to  gie  my  aith. 

Imprimis^   then,  for   carriage    cat- 
tle: — 
I  hae  four  brutes  o'  gallant  mettle 
As  ever  drew  before  a  pettle  : 
My    lan'-afore's    a    guid    auld    'has 

been,' 
An'    wight    an'    wilfu'    a'   his    days 

been. 
My  lan'-ahin  's  a  weel-gaun  fillie, 
That  aft   has    borne   me   hame   frae 

Kilhe, 
An'  your  auld  borough  monie  a-t:ime 
In  days  when  riding  was  nae  crime. 
(But  ance,  when  in  my  wooing  pride 
I,  like  a  blockhead,  boost  to  ride. 
The  vvilfu'  creature  sae  I  pat  to  — 


Lord,  pardon    a'   my  sins,    an'    that 

too!  — 
I  play'd  my  fillie  sic  a  shavie, 
She's  a'  bedevil'd  wi'  the  spavie.) 
My  fur-ahin's  a  wordy  beast 
As  e'er  in  tug  or  tow  was  traced. 
The    fourth 's    a    Highland    Donald 

hastie, 
A  damn'd  red-wud  Kilburnie  blastie! 
Foreby,  a  cowte,  o'  cowtes  the  wale, 
As  ever  ran  afore  a  tail : 
If  he  be  spar'd  to  be  a  beast, 
He  '11  draw  me  fifteen  pund  at  least. 

Wheel-carriages  I  hae  but  few : 
Three  carts,  an'  twa  are  feckly  new ; 
An    auld     wheelbarrow  —  mair     for 

token, 
Ae    leg   an'    baith    the     trams     are 

broken : 
I  made  a  poker  o'  the  spin'le. 
An'  my  auld  mither  brunt  the  trin'le. 

For  men,  I  Ve  three   mischievous 

boys, 
Run-deils  for  fechtin  an'  for  noise  : 
A  gauds  man  ane,  a  thrasher  t'  other. 
Wee    Davoc    bauds    the    nowte    in 

fother. 
I  rule  them,  as  I  ought,  discreetly. 
An'  aften  labour  them  completely ; 
An'  ay  on  Sundays  duly,  nightly, 
I     on    the     Questions    tairge    them 

tightly : 
Till,  faith!    wee  Davoc 's  grown  sae 

Tho'  scarcely  langer  than  your  leg, 
He  '11  screed  you  aif  '  Effectual  Call- 
ing' 
As  fast  as  onie  in  the  dwalling. 

I  've  nane  in  female  servan'  station 
(Lord   keep   me   ay   frae  a'  tempta- 
tion!) : 
I  hae  nae  wife  —  and  that  my  bliss 

is  — 
An'  ye  hae  laid  nae  tax  on  misses  ; 
An'  then,  if  kirk  folks  dinna  clutch  me, 
I  ken  the  deevils  darena  touch  me. 


A  MAUCHLINE  WEDDING. 


125 


Wi'  weans  I  "m  mair  than  weel  con- 
tented : 
Heav'n   sent    me   ane    mair  than    I 

wanted ! 
My     sonsie,    smirking,    dear-bought 

Bess, 
She  stares  the  daddie  in  her  face, 
Enough  of  ought  ye  like  but  grace : 
But  her,  my  bonie.  sweet  wee  lady, 
I  've  paid  enough  for  her  already; 
An"  gin  ye  tax  her  or  her  mither, 
By  the  Lord,  ye  'se  get  them  a'  the- 
gither ! 

But  pray,  remember,  Mr.  Aiken, 
Nae  kind  of  licence  out  I  'm  takin  : 
Frae  this  time  forth,  I  do  declare 
I  'se  ne'er  ride  horse  nor  hizzie  mair ; 
Thro"  dirt  and  dub  for  life  I  "11  paidle, 
Ere  I  sae  dear  pay  for  a  saddle ; 
I  "ve    sturdy    stumps,    the    Lord    be 

thankit, 
And  a'  my  gates  on  foot  I  '11  shank  it. 
The  Kirk  and  you  may  tak'  you  that, 
It  puts  but  little  in  your  pat : 
Sae  dinna  put  me  in  your  beuk, 
Nor  for  my  ten  white  shillings  leuk. 

This  list,  wi'   my   ain   hand   I  've 
wrote  it, 
The  day  and  date  as  under  notit ; 
Then  know  all  ye  whom  it  concerns, 
Subscripsi  hide,         Robert  Burns. 


A  MAUCHLINE  WEDDING. 

[This  good-natured  squib  was  enclosed 
in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  Aug.  21,  1788, 
and  was  published  for  the  first  time  in  the 
"  Centenary "  Burns,  from  the  Lochryan 
Mss.] 

I. 

When  Eighty-five  was  seven  months 
auld  , 

And  wearing  thro'  the  aught. 
When  rolling  rains  and  Boreas  bauld 

Gied  farmer-folks  a  faught ; 


Ae  morning  quondam  Mason  W  .  .  ., 
Now  Merchant  Master  Miller, 

Gaed  down  to  meet  wi'  Nansie  B  .  .  ., 
And  her  Jamaica  siller 

To  wed,  that  day. 

II. 

The  rising  sun  o'er  Blacksideen 

Was  just  appearing  fairly. 
When  Nell  and  Bess  got  up  to  dress 

Seven  lang  half-hours  o"er  early! 
Now  presses  clmk,  and  drawers  jink, 

For  linens  and  for  laces  : 
But  modest  Muses  only  think 

What  ladies'  underdress  is 
On  sic  a  day! 


III. 

But  we  '11  suppose  the  stays  are  lacM, 

And  bonie  bosoms  steekit, 
Tho'  thro'  the  lawn  —  but  guess  the 
rest! 
An  angel  scarce  durst  keek  it. 
Then  stockins  fine  o'  silken  twine 
Wi'  cannie  care  are  drawn  up ; 
An'     garten'd     tight    whare     mortal 
wisfht  — 


As  I  never  wrote  it  down  my  recollection 
does  not  entirely  serve  me. 

IV. 

But  now  the  gown  wi'  rustling  sound 

Its  silken  pomp  displays ; 
Sure  there 's  nae  sin  in  being  vain 

O'  siccan  bonie  claes! 
Sae  jimp  the  waist,  the  tail  sae  vast — • 

Trouth,  they  were  bonie  birdies! 
O  Mither  Eve,  ye  wad  been  grieve 

To  see  their  ample  hurdles 
Sae  large  that  day! 


Then  Sandy,  wi's  red  jacket  braw, 
Comes  whip-jee-woa!  about. 

And  in  he  gets  the  bonie  twa  — 
Lord,  send  them  safely  out! 


126         ADAM   ARMOUR'S   PRAYER.  — THE  COURT  OF   EQUITY. 


And  auld  John  Trot  wV  sober  phiz, 
As  braid  and  braw  's  a  Bailie, 

His  shouthers  and  his  Sunday's  jiz 
Wi'  powther  and  wi'  ulzie 

WeelsmearM  that  day.  .  . 


ADAM   ARMOUR'S   PRAYER. 

[The  interlocutor  in  this  intercession  was 
Burns's  brother-in-law,  who  was  concerned 
in  a  piece  of  rustic  lynch-law.] 

I. 

GuDE  pity  me,  because  I  'm  little! 
For  though  I  am  an  elf  o'  mettle. 
And  can  like  onie  wabster's  shuttle 

Jink  there  or  here, 
Yet,  scarce  as  lang  's  a  guid  kail-whittle, 

I  'm  unco  queer. 

II. 

An'  now  Thou  kens  our  woefu'  case  : 
For  Geordie's  jurr  we  're  in  disgrace, 
Because  we  stang'd  her  through  the 
place. 

An'  hurt  her  spleuchan  ; 
For  whilk  we  daurna  show  our  face 

Within  the  clachan. 

III. 

An'  now  we  're   dern'd  in  dens   and 

hollows. 
And  hunted,  as  was  William  Wallace, 
Wi'  constables  —  the  blackguard  fal- 
lows— 

An'  sodgers  baith  ; 
But  Gude  preserve  us  frae  the  gallows. 
That  shamefu'  death ! 

IV. 

Auld,  grim,  black-bearded  Geordie's 

seP  — 
O,  shake  him  owre  the  mouth  o'  Hell! 
There  let  him  hing,  an'  roar,  an'  yell 

Wi'  hideous  din, 
And  if  he  offers  to  rebel, 

Then  heave  him  in! 


When  Death  comes  in  wi'  glimmerin 

blink, 
An'  tips  auld  drucken  Nanse  the  wink, 
May  Sautan  gie  her  doup  a  clink 

Within  his  yett. 
An'  fill  her  up  wi'  brimstone  drink 

Red-reekin  het. 


VI. 

Though   Jock   an'   hav'rel   Jean   are 

merry, 
Some  devil  seize  them  in  a  hurry, 
An'  waft  them  in  th'  infernal  wherry 

Straught  through  the  lake, 
An'  gie  their  hides  a  noble  curry 

Wi'oilofaik! 


VII. 


As 


for    the    jurr  —  puir    worthless 
body! — 
She  's  got  mischief  enough  already ; 
Wi'  stanget  hips  and  buttocks  bluidy 

She  's  sufFer'd  sair  ; 
But  may  she  wintle  in  a  woody 
If  she  whore  mair! 


THE   COURT   OF    EQUITY. 

AS     PRINTED     IN     AITKEN'S     ALDINE 
EDITION,  1893. 

["'The  Court  of  Equity'- was  dated 
'  Mauchline,  12th  May,  1786,'  and  probably 
written  in  the  previous  year,  in  which  Burns 
chronicled  certain  of  the  doings  of  the 
bachelors  who  were  in  the  habit  of  meeting 
in  the  Whitefoord  Arms.  They  constituted 
themselves  into  a  mock  Court  —  Burns 
being  president.  Smith  fiscal,  and  Rich- 
mond clerk  —  to  examine  into  the  'scan- 
dals '  in  Mauchline,  and,  in  particular,  to 
bring  to  book  '  marauders,'  or  offenders 
against  ordinary  sexual  molality,  who  sought 
by  various  means  to  escape  the  penalty  of 
their  offences.  It  is  full  of  humanity  and 
tenderness,  but  [parts  of  it  are]  too  '  broad ' 


THE   COURT  OF   EQUITY. 


127 


for  publication."  —  CHAMBERS,  revised  by 
William  Wallace.] 

In  Truth  and  Honor's  name.  Amen. 
Know  all  men  by  these  presents  plain, 
This    twalt    o'    May    at    Mauchline 

given ; 
The  year  'tween  eighty-five  an'  seven  ; 
We  (all  marauders)  by  profession, 
As  per  extractum  from  each  Session  ; 
In  way  and  manner  here  narrated, 
Pro  bono  A)iior  congregated  ; 
And  by  our  Brethren  constituted, 
A  Court  of  Equity  deputed  : 
With  special  authoris'd  direction. 
To  take  beneath  our  strict  protection 
The     stays     out-bursting,    quondam 

maiden. 
With  growing  life  and  anguish  laden, 
That  by  the  rascal  is  deny'd 
Who  led  her  thoughtless  steps  aside  ; 
He  who  disowns  the  ruin'd  fair  one, 
And  for  her  wants   and  woes    does 

care  none ; 
The  wretch  that  can  refuse  assistance 
To  those  whom  he  has  given  exist- 
ence ; 
The  knave  who  takes  a  private  stroke 
Beneath  his  sanctimonious  cloak  ! 
The    coof    who    Stan's    on    clishma- 

clavers 
When  lasses  hafflins  offer  favors  ; 
All  who  in  any  way  or  manner 
Distain  the  (bold  marauder's)  honor. 
We  take  cognizance  there  anent. 
The  proper  judges  competent 
First,  Poet  Burns,  he  takes  the  Chair; 
AUow'd  by  a',  his  title's  fair ; 
And  past  neni.  con.  without  dissen- 
sion. 
He  has  a  duplicate  pretension. 
The  second.  Smith,  our  worthy  Fiscal, 
To  cow  each  pertinacious  rascal : 
In  this,  as  ev'ry  other  state. 
His  merit  is  conspicuous  great. 
Richmond,  the  third,  our  trusty  Clerk, 
Our  minutes  regular  to  mark  ; 
And  sit  dispenser  of  the  law 
In  absence  of  the  former  twa. 
The  fourth  our  messengrer-at-arms. 


When  failing  all  the  milder  terms, 
Hunter,  a  hearty,  willing  Brother, 
Weel  skill'd  in  dead  an'  living  leather. 
Without  preamble,  less  or  more  said, 
We  body  politic  aforesaid, 
With  legal,  due  whereas,  and  where- 
fore, 
We  are  appointed  here  to  care  for 
The  interests  of  our  Constituents, 
And  punish  contravening  truants, 
****** 

Then  Brown  an'  Dow  above-design'd 
For  clags  an'  clauses  there  subjoin'd. 
We,  Court  aforesaid,  cite  and  sum- 
mon. 
That  on  the  fourth  o'  June  in  comin', 
The  hour  o'  Cause,  in  our  Court  ha' 
At    Whitefoord's   Arms,    ye   answer 

Law. 
But,  as  reluctantly  we  punish, 
An'  rather  mildly  would  admonish  : 
Since  better  punishment  prevented 
Than  obstinacy  sair  repented  ; 
Then,  for  that  ancient  secret's  sake 
You  have  the  honor  to  partake  ; 
An'  for  that  noble  badge  you  wear. 
You,  Sandie  Dow,  our  Brother  dear. 
We  give  you  as  a  man  and  mason. 
This  private,  sober,  friendly  lesson. 
Your  crime,  a  manly  deed  we  view  it. 
A  man  alone  can  only  do  it ; 
But,  in  denial  persevering, 
Is  to  a  scoundrel's  name  adhering. 

****** 

To  tell  the  truth 's  a  manly  lesson. 
An'  doubly  proper  in  a  Mason. 

****** 

This,  0M\  futuriwi  est  Decreet., 
We  mean  it  not  to  keep  a  secret ; 
But  in  our  summons  here  insert  it. 
And  whoso  dares  may  controvert  it. 
This    mark'd    before    the    date   and 

place  is ; 
Siibsigniun  est  per  Burns  the  Preses. 

(L.  S.)  B  .  .  . 
This  summons  and  the  Signet  mark 
Extraction  est.,  per  Richmond.  Clerk, 

R  .  .  .  d. 


128 


NATURE'S   LAW. 


At  Mauchline,  twenty-fifth  of  May, 
About  the  twalt  hour  o'  the  day, 
You  twa,  in  propria  persona, 
Before  designed  Sandie  and  Johnnie, 
This  summons  legally  have  got, 
As  vide  Witness  under- wrote  ; 
Within    the    house    of   John   Dove, 

Vintner, 
Nimc  facia  hoc  —  Guillelmus  Hunter. 


\ 


NATURE'S   LAW. 


HUMBLY   INSCRIBED   TO   GAVIN   HAM- 
ILTON, ESQUIRE. 

Great  Nature  spoke,  observant  ynaii  obeyed. 

Pope. 

[The  day  celebrated  here  is  Sept.  3, 1786, 
On  the  8th  of  that  month  Burns  wrote: 
"  You  will  have  heard  that  poor  Armour 
has  repaid  my  amorous  mortgage  double. 
A  very  fine  boy  and  a  girl  have  awakened 
a  thought  and  feelings  that  thrill,  some  with 
tender  pressure,  and  some  with  foreboding 
anguish,  through  my  soul."] 


I. 


Let  other  heroes  boast  their  scars. 

The  marks  o'  sturt  and  strife. 
But  other  poets  sing  of  wars, 

The  plagues  o'  human  life! 
Shame   fa'  the  fun :    wi'  sword  and 
gun 

To  slap  mankind  like  lumber ! 
I  sing  his  name  and  nobler  fame 

Wha  multiplies  our  number. 


II. 

Great    Nature    spoke,   with    air  be- 
nign :  — 

'■  Go  on,  ye  human  race  ; 
This  lower  world  I  you  resign ; 

Be  fruitful  and  increase. 
The  liquid  fire  of  strong  desire, 

I  've  poured  it  in  each  bosom  ; 


Herb   on    this    hand   does    mankind 
stand, 
And  there,  is  Beauty's  blossom  ! ' 


III. 

The  hero  of  these  artless  strains, 

A  lowly  Bard  was  he, 
Who  sung  his  rhymes  in  Coila's  plains 

With  meikle  mirth  and  glee  : 
Kind   Nature's    care    had    given   his 
share 

Large  of  the  flaming  current ; 
And,  all  devout,  he  never  sought 

To  stem  the  sacred  torrent. 


rv. 

He  felt  the  powerful,  high  behest 

Thrill  vital  thro'  and  thro' ; 
And  sought  a  correspondent  breast 

To  give  obedience  due. 
Propitious  Powers  screen'd  the  young 
flow'rs 

From  mildews  of  abortion  ; 
And  lo !  the  Bard  —  a  great  reward  — 

Has  got  a  double  portion  ! 


V. 

Auld  can  tie  Coil  may  count  the  day, 

As  annual  it  returns, 
The  third  of  Libra's  equal  sway. 

That  gave  another  Burns, 
With  future  rhymes  an'  other  times 

To  emulate  his  sire. 
To  sing  auld  Coil  in  nobler  style 

With  more  poetic  fire  ! 


VI. 

Ye  Powers  of  peace  and  peaceful  song, 

Look  down  with  gracious  eyes. 
And  bless  auld  Coila  large  and  long 

With  multiplying  joys! 
Lang  may  she  stand  to  prop  the  land. 

The  flow'r  of  ancient  nations. 
And  Burnses  spring  her  fame  to  sing 

To  endless  generations! 


ON   MEETING  WITH   LORD   DAER.— TO  THE  TOOTHACHE.     129 


LINES   ON   MEETING   WITH 
LORD   DAER. 

[Basil  William,  Lord  Daer,  son  of  the 
Earl  of  Selkirk,  whom  Burns  met  at  Profes- 
sor Dugald  Stewart's  villa,  at  Catrine.] 


This  wot  ye  all  whom  it  concerns : 
I.  Rhymer  Rab,  alias  Burns, 

October  twenty-third, 
A  ne'er-to-be-forgotten  day, 
Sae  far  I  sprachPcl  up  the  brae 

I  dinner'd  wi'  a  Lord. 

II. 

I  Ve  been  at  drucken  Writers'  feasts, 
Nay,    been    bitch-fou    'mang    godly 
Priests  — 
Wi'  reverence  be  it  spoken!  — 
I  Ve  even  joined  the  honor'd  jorum. 
When  mighty  Squireships  o'  the  Quo- 
rum 
Their  hydra  drouth  did  sloken. 

III. 

But  wi'  a  Lord!  —  stand  out  my  shin! 
A  Lord,  a  Peer,  an  EarPs  son!  — 

Up  higher  yet  my  bonnet! 
An'  sic  a  Lord !  —  lang  Scotch  ell  twa 
Our  Peerage  he  looks  o'er  them  a', 

As  I  look  o'er  my  sonnet. 

IV. 

But  O,  for  Hogarth's  magic  powV 
To  show  Sir  Bardie's  willyart  glow'r, 
An'  how  he  star'd  an'  stam- 
mer'd. 
When,  goavin  's    he  'd    been   led   wi' 

branks, 
An'  stumpin  on  his  ploughman  shanks. 
He  in  the  parlour  hammer'd! 

V. 

To  meet  good  Stewart  little  pain  is. 
Or  Scotia's  sacred  Demosthenes  : 

Thinks  I :  '•  They  are  but  men  '! 

K 


But  '■  Burns ' !  — '  My  Lord ' !  —  Good 

God!  I  doited, 
My  knees  on  ane  anither  knoited 
As  faultering  I  gaed  ben. 


VI. 

I  sidling  shelter'd  in  a  neuk. 
An'  at  his  Lordship  staw  a  leuk, 

Like  some  portentous  omen  : 
Except  good  sense  and  social  glee 
An'  (what  surpris'd  me)  modesty, 

I  marked  nought  uncommon. 


VII. 

I  watch'd  the  symptoms  o'  the  Great  — • 
The  gentle  pride,  the  lordly  state. 

The  arrogant  assuming: 
The  fient  a  pride,  nae  pride  had  he. 
Nor  sauce,  nor  state,  that  I  could  see, 

Mair  than  an  honest  plough- 
man! 

VIII. 

Then  from  his  Lordship  I  shall  learn 
Henceforth  to  meet  with  unconcern 

One  rank  as  well 's  another ; 
Nae  honest,  worthy  man  need  care 
To  meet  with  noble  youthfu'  Daer, 

For  he  but  meets  a  brother. 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  TOOTH- 
ACHE. 

[Burns  in  later  letters  specially  refers  to 
this  "  Hell  o'  a'  diseases,"  but  he  probably 
suffered  from  it  at  different  periods.  Pub- 
lished, October,  1797.] 


I. 

My  curse  upon  your  venom'd  stang. 
That  shoots  my  tortur'd  gooms  al.mg. 
An'  thro'  my  lug  gies  monie  a  twang 

Wi'  gnawing  vengeance. 
Tearing  my  nerves  wi'  bitter  pang. 

Like  racking  engines! 


130 


LAMENT   FOR  THE   ABSENCE   OF   WILLIAM   CREECH. 


II. 

A'  down  my  beard  the  slavers  trickle, 
I  throw  the  wee  stools  o'er  the  mickle, 
While  round  the  fire  the  giglets  keckle 

To  see  me  loup, 
An',  raving  mad.  I  wish  a  heckle 

Were  i'  their  doup! 


III. 

When  fevers  burn,  or  ague  freezes, 
Rheumatics  gnaw,  or  colic  squeezes, 
Our  neebors  sympathise  to  ease  us 

Wi'  pitying  moan ; 
But  thee!  —  thou  hell  o'  a'  diseases, 

They  mock  our  groan ! 


IV. 

Of  a'  the  numerous  human  dools  — 
Ill-hairsts,  daft  bargains,  cutty-stools, 
Or  worthy  frien's  laid  i'  the  mools. 

Sad  sight  to  see! 
The  tricks  o' knaves,  or  fash  o'  fools  — 

Thou  bear'st  the  gree! 


V. 

Whare'er  that   place  be  priests  ca' 

Hell, 
Whare  a'  the  tones  o'  misery  yell. 
An'   ranked    plagues    their'  numbers 
tell 

In  dreadfu'  raw. 
Thou,  Toothache,  surely  bear'st  the 
bell 

Amang  them  a'! 


VI. 

O  thou  grim,  mischief-making  chiel, 
That  gars  the  notes  o'  discord  squeel. 
Till  humankind  aft  dance  a  reel 

In  gore  a  shoe-thick, 
Gie  a'  the  faes  o'  Scotland's  weal 

A  towmond's  toothache. 


LAMENT  FOR  THE  ABSENCE 
OF  WILLIAiM  CREECH,  PUB> 
LISHER. 

[In  enclosing  these  verses  to  Mr.  Creech, 
Burns  writes :  "  The  enclosed  I  have  just 
wrote,  nearly  extempore,  in  a  solitary  inn 
in  Selkirk,  after  a  miserable  wet  day's 
riding."] 

I. 

AuLD  chuckle  Reekie's  sair  distrest. 
Down  droops  her  ance  weel  burnish'd 

crest, 
Nae  joy  her  bonie  buskit  nest 

Can  yield  ava : 
Her  darling  bird  that  she  lo'es  best, 
Willie,  's  awa. 


II. 

O,  Willie  was  a  witty  wight, 
And  had  o'  things  an  unco  sleight! 
Auld  Reekie  ay  he  keepit  tight. 
And  trig  an'  braw ; 
But    now   they  '11    busk    her    like   a 
fright  — 

Willie's  awa! 


III. 

The  stifFest  o'  them  a'  he  bow'd ; 
The  bauldest  o'  them  a'  he  cow'd ; 
They  durst  nae  mair  than  he  allow'd  — 

That  was  a  law  : 
We  've  lost  a  birkie  weel  worth  gowd  — 
Willie 's  awa ! 


IV. 

Now   gawkies,    tawpies,   gowks,  and 

fools 
Frae  colleges  and  boarding  schools 
May    sprout    like    simmer   puddock- 
stools 

In  glen  or  shaw  : 
He  wha  could  brush  them  down  to 
mools, 

Willie,  's  awa! 


VERSES   IN   FRIARS   CARSE   HERMITAGE. 


131 


V. 

The  brethren  o^  the  Commerce-Chau- 

mer 
May    mourn   their   loss    wi'    doolfu' 

clamour : 
He  was  a  dictionar  and  grammar 

Amang  them  a\ 
I  fear  they  '11  now  mak  monie  a  stam- 
mer: 

Willie  's  awa ! 

VI. 

Nae  mair  we  see  his  levee  door 
Philosophers  and  Poets  pour, 
And  toothy  Critics  by  the  score 

In  bloody  raw  : 
The  adjutant  of  a'  the  core, 

Willie/s  awa! 

VII. 

Now  worthy  GregVy's  Latin  face, 
Tytler's     and     Greenfield's     modest 

grace, 
M'Kenzie,  Stewart,  such  a  brace 

As  Rome  ne'er  saw. 
They  a'  maun  meet  some  ither  place  — 
Willie  's  awa! 

VIII. 

Poor  Burns  ev'n  '  Scotch  Drink '  can- 

na  quicken : 
He     cheeps     like     some    bewilder'd 

chicken 
Scar'd  frae  its  minnie  and  the  cleckin 

By  hoodie-craw. 
Grief's  gien  his  heart  an  unco  kickin  — 
Willie 's  awa ! 

IX. 

Now   ev'ry   sour-mou'd,   girnin   blel- 

lum. 
And  Calvin's  folk,  are  fit  to  fell  him ; 
Ilk  self-conceited  critic-skellum 
His  quill  may  draw: 
He   wha   could    brawlie    ward   their 
bellum, 

Willie,  's  awa! 


X. 

Up    wimpling,    stately    Tweed    I  've 

sped, 
And  Eden  scenes  on  crystal  Jed, 
And  Ettrick  banks,  now  roaring  red 

While  tempests  blaw  ; 
But  every  joy  and  pleasure  's  fled  : 
Willie's  awa! 

XI. 

May  I  be  Slander's  common  speech, 
A  text  for  Infamy  to  preach, 
And,  lastly,  streekit  out  to  bleach 

In  winter  snaw, 
When  I  forget  thee,  Willie  Creech, 
Tho'  far  awa.-* 

XII. 

May    never    wicked    Fortune    touzle 

him, 
May    never  wicked    men  bamboozle 

him, 
Until  a  pow  as  auld  's  Methusalem 

He  canty  claw! 
Then  to  the  blessed  new  Jerusalem 
Fleet-wing  awa! 


VERSES     IN     FRIARS     CARSE 
HERMITAGE. 

[Friars  Carse  was  the  estate  of  Captain 
Riddell,  of  Glenriddell,  beautifully  situated 
on  the  banks  of  the  Nith,  near  Ellisland. 
The  Hermitage  was  a  decorated  cottage 
which  the  proprietor  had  erected.] 

Thou  whom  chance  may  hither  lead, 
Be  thou  clad  in  russet  weed, 
Be  thou  deckt  in  silken  stole, 
Grave  these  maxims  on  thy  soul :  — 

Life  is  but  a  day  at  most, 
Sprung  from  night  in  darkness  lost ; 
Hope  not  sunshine  every  hour. 
Fear  not  clouds  will  always  lour. 
Happiness  is  but  a  name, 
Make  content  and  ease  thy  aim. 
Ambition  is  a  meteor-gleam  ; 


132        ELEGY  ON  THE   DEPARTED   YEAR.  — CASTLE   GORDON. 


Fame  a  restless  airy  dream  ; 
Pleasures,  insects  on  the  wing 
Round  Peace,  th"  tend'rest  flowV  of 

spring ; 
Those  that  sip  the  dew  alone  — 
Make  the  butterflies  thy  own ; 
Thosi  that  would  the  bloom  devour  — 
Crush  the  locusts^  save  the  flower. 
For  the  future  be  prepard : 
Guard  wherever  thou  can'st  guard  ; 
But,  thy  utmost  duly  done, 
Welcome  what  thou  can'st  not  shun. 
Follies  past  give  thou  to  air  — 
Make  their  consequence  thy  care. 
Keep  the  name  of  Man  in  mind, 
And  dishonour  not  thy  kind. 
Reverence  with  lowly  heart 
Him,  whose  wondrous  work  thou  art ; 
Keep  His  Goodness  still  in  view  — 
Thy  trust,  and  thy  example  too. 

Stranger,  go!  Heaven  be  thy  guide! 
Quod  the  Beadsman  on  Nidside. 


ELEGY    ON    THE    DEPARTED 
YEAR    1788. 

[On  the  same  day  that  Burns  composed 
this,  he  penned  a  beautiful  letter  to  Mrs. 
Dunlop,  which  has  been  much  admired. 
Printed  in  "  The  Courant,"  1789,] 

For  lords  or  kings  I  dinna  mourn  ; 
E'en  let  them  die  —  for  that'  they're 

born ; 
But  O,  prodigious  to  reflect, 
A  Towmont,  sirs,  is  gane  to  wreck! 
O  Eighty-Eight,  in  thy  sma'  space 
What  dire  events  hae  taken  place! 
Of  what  enjoyments  thou  hast  reft  us! 
Ill  what  a  pickle  thou  hast  left  us! 

The  Spanish  empire  's  tint  a  head. 
An'  my  auld  teethless  Bawtie  's  dead  ; 
The  tulyie's  teugh  'tween  Pitt  and  Fox, 
An'  our  guidwife's  wee  birdie  cocks  : 
The  tane  is  game,  a  bluidie  devil. 
But  to  the  lien-birds  unco  civil ; 


The    tither  's     dour  —  has    nae    sic 

breedin, 
But  better  stuflf  ne'er  claw'd  a  midden. 

Ye  ministers,  come  mount  the  poupit, 
An'  cry  till  ye  be  haerse  an'  roupet, 
For  Eighty-Eight,  he  wished  you  vveel, 
An'  gied  ye  a'  baith  gear  an'  meal : 
E'en  monie  a  plack  and  monie  a  peck, 
Ye  ken  yoursels,  for  little  feck ! 

Ye  bonie  lasses,  dight  your  een, 
For  some  o'  you  hae  tint  a  frien'  : 
In  Eighty-Eight,  ye  ken,  was  taen 
What  ye  '11  ne'er  hae  to  gie  again. 

Observe  the  vera  nowte  an'  sheep, 
How  dowffan'  dowilie  they  creep! 
Nay,  even  the  yirth  itsel  does  cry. 
For  Embro'  wells  are  grutten  dry! 

O  Eighty-Nine,  thou's  but  a  bairn, 
An'  no  owre  auld,  I  hope,  to  learn ! 
Thou  beardless  boy,  I  pray  tak  care, 
Thou  now  has  got  thy  Daddie's  chair : 
Nae  hand-cuff 'd,  mizzl'd,  half-shackl'd 

Regent, 
But,  like  himsel,  a  full  free  agent, 
Be  sure  ye  follow  out  the  plan 
Nae  waur  than  he  did,  honest  man! 
As  muckle  better  as  ye  can. 

January  1,  1789. 


CASTLE   GORDON. 

[Burns  was  introduced  to  the  Duchess  of 
Gordon  in  Edinburgh  (1786-87)  ;  and  dur- 
ing his  northern  tour  in  1787  he  called  at 
Gordon  Castle  on  Sept.  7.] 

I. 

Streams  that  glide  in  Orient  plains. 
Never  bound  by  Winters  chains  ; 

Glowing  here  on  golden  sands. 
There  immixed  with  foulest  stains 

From  tyranny's  empurpled  hands  ; 
These,  their  richly  gleaming  waves. 


THE  DUCHESS  OF  GORDON'S  DANCING.  —  CAPTAIN  GROSE.       133 


I  leave  to  tyrants  and  their  slaves  : 
Give  me  the  stream  that  sweetly  laves 
The  banks  by  Castle  Gordon. 

II. 

Spicy  forests  ever  gay, 
Shading  from  the  burning  ray 

Hapless  wretches  sold  to  toil ; 
Or,  the  ruthless  native\s  way, 

Bent  on  slaughter,  blood  and  spoil ; 
Woods  that  ever  verdant  wave, 
I  leave  the  tyrant  and  the  slave : 
Give  me  the  groves  that  lofty  brave 
The  storms  of  Castle  Gordon. 


III. 

Wildly  here  without  control 
Nature  reigns,  and  rules  the  whole ; 

In  that  sober  pensive  mood. 
Dearest  to  the  feeling  soul. 

She   plants   the   forest,    pours  the 
flood. 
Life's  poor  day  I  '11,  musing,  rave. 
And  find  at  night  a  sheltering  cave. 
Where  waters  flow  and  wild  woods 
wave 
By  bonie  Castle  Gordon. 


ON  THE  DUCHESS  OF  GOR- 
DON'S REEL  DANCING. 

[Published  in  Stuart's  Star,  Mar.  31,  1789. 
Jane,  Duchess  of  Gordon,  was  second 
daughter  of  Sir  William  Maxwell,  third 
Baronet  of  Monreith,] 

I. 

She  kiltit  up  her  kirtle  weel 
To  show  her  bonie  cutes  sae  sma', 

And  walloped  about  the  reel. 
The  lightest  louper  o'  them  a' ! 

II. 

While    some,   like    slavring,   doited 
stots 
Stoit'ring    out    thro'    the    midden 
dub, 


Fankit  their  heels  amang  their  coats 
And  gart  the  floor  their  backsides 
rub ; 


III. 


Gordon,  the  great,  the  gay,  the  gal- 
lant, 

Skip't  like  a  maukin  owre  a  dyke  : 
Deil  tak  me,  since  I  was  a  callant, 

Gif  e'er  my  een  beheld  the  like  ! 


ON   CAPTAIN    GROSE. 

WRITTEN  ON  AN  ENVELOPE,  ENCLOS- 
ING A  LETTER  TO  HIM. 

[The  verses  were  published  by  Currie  in 
1800.  It  is  an  amusing  parody  of  a  funny 
old  song  against  tale-telling  travellers.] 

I. 

Ken  ye  ought  o'  Captain  Grose  ? 

Igo  and  ago 
If  he's  among  his  friends  or  foes? 

Irajn,  coram,  dago 

II. 

Is  he  south,  or  is  he  north  ? 

Igo  and  ago 
Or  drowned  in  the  River  Forth? 

Iram,  coramy  dago 

III. 

Is  he  slain  by  Hielan'  bodies  ? 

/go  and  ago 
And  eaten  like  a  wether  haggis  ? 

Iram,  coram,  dago 

IV. 

Is  he  to  Abra'm's  bosom  gane? 

Igo  and  ago 
Or  haudin  Sarah  by  the  wame  ? 

Iram,  coram,  dago 


'34 


NEW  YEAR'S   DAY,    1791. 


V. 


Where'er  he  be,  the  Lord    be   near 
him! 

I  go  and  ago 
As   for  the   Deil,   he  daur  na^teer 


him. 


Iraniy  coram,  dago 


VI. 

But    please    transmit    th'    enclosed 
letter 

Igo  and  ago 
Which     will     oblige     your     humble 
debtor 

IrafJij  co7'a}n,  dago 

VII. 

So  may  ye  hae  auld  stanes  in  store, 
Igo  and  ago 

The  very  stanes  that  Adam  bore! 
Iraui,  coraui^  dago 

VIII. 

So  may  ye  get  in  glad  possession, 
Igo  and  ago 

The  coins  o'  Satan's  coronation ! 

Irani,  cora7n,  dago 


NEW   YEAR'S    DAY,    1791. 

[Written  to  Mrs.  Dunlop.  The  "grand- 
child" whose  cap  is  referred  to  was  prob- 
ably the  child  of  Mrs.  Henri,  born  in 
November,  1790.] 

This  day  Time  winds  th'  exhausted 

chain, 
To    run    the    twelvemonth's    length 

again : 
I  see  the  old,  bald-pated  fellow, 
With  ardent  eyes,  complexion  sallow. 
Adjust  the  unimpair'd  machine 
To  wheel  the  equal,  dull  routine. 

The  absent  lover,  minor  heir, 
in  vain  assail  him  with  their  prayer : 


Deaf  as  my  friend,  he  sees  them 
press. 

Nor  makes  the  hour  one  moment 
less. 

Will  you  (the  Major's  with  the 
hounds ; 

The  happy  tenants  share  his  rounds ; 

Coila's  fair  Rachel's  care  to-day. 

And  blooming  Keith 's  engaged  with 
Gray) 

From  housewife  cares  a  minute  bor- 
row 

(That  grandchild's  cap  will  do  to- 
morrow). 

And  join  with  me  a-moralizing? 

This  day  's  propitious  to  be  wise  in  ! 

First,    what    did    yesternight    de- 
liver? 
'Another  year  has  gone  for  ever.' 
And  what  is  this  day's  strong  sugges- 
tion .? 
'  The  passing  moment 's  all  we  rest 

on!' 
Rest  on  —  for  what  ?  what  do  we  here  ? 
Or  why  regard  the  passing  year? 
Will   Time,    amus'd   with    proverb'd 

lore, 
Add  to  our  date  one  minute  more  ? 
A  few  days  may —  a  few  years  must  — 
Repose  us  in  the  silent  dust : 
Then,  is  it  wise  to  damp  our  bliss  ? 
Yes  :   all  such  reasonings  are  amiss  ! 
The  voice  of  Nature  loudly  cries, 
And  many  a  message  from  the  skies, 
That  something  in  us  never  dies  ; 
That  on  this  frail,  uncertain  state 
Hang  matters  of  eternal  weight ; 
That  future  life  in  worlds  unknown 
Must  take  its  hue  from  this  alone, 
Whether  as  heavenly  glory  bright 
Or  dark  as  Misery's  woeful  night. 

Since,    then,    my  honor'd    first   of 
friends, 
On  this  poor  being  all  depends. 
Let  us  th'  important  Now  employ, 
And  live  as  those  who  never  die. 
Tho'   you,   with    days   and    honours 
crown'd, 


FROM   ESOPUS  TO    MARIA. 


135 


Witness  that  filial  circle  round 
(A  sight  life's  sorrows  to  repulse, 
A  sight  pale  envy  to  convulse), 
Others  now  claim  your  chief  regard  : 
Yourself,  you  wait  your  bright  reward. 


FROM   ESOPUS   TO   MARIA. 

["  The  Esopus  of  this  strange  epistle," 
says  Mr.  Allan  Cunningham,  "  was  William- 
son the  actor,  and  the  Maria  to  whom  it 
was  addressed  was  Mrs.  Riddell."  While 
Williamson  and  his  brother  actors  were 
performing  at  Whitehaven  Lord  Lonsdale 
committed  the  whole  to  prison.] 

From     those     drear    solitudes    and 

frowsy  cells, 
Where  Infamy  with  sad  Repentance 

dwells ; 
Where   turnkeys   make    the    jealous 

portal  fast. 
And  deal  from  iron  hands  the  spare 

repast ; 
Where  truant  'prentices,  yet  young  in 

sin. 
Blush  at  the  curious  stranger  peeping 

in; 
Where     strumpets,     relics     of      the 

drunken  roar, 
Resolve  to  drink,  nay  half  —  to  whore 

—  no  more ; 
Where  tiny  thieves  not  destined  yet 

to  swing, 
Beat  hemp  for  others    riper   for  the 

string : 
From  these  dire  scenes  my  wretched 

lines  I  date. 
To  tell  Maria  her  Esopus'  fate. 

^  Alas  !  I  feel  I  am  no  actor  here  ! ' 
'T  is  real  hangmen  real  scourges  bear  ! 
Prepare.  Maria,  for  a  horrid  tale 
Will  turn  thy  very  rouge  to    deadly 

pale ; 
Will   make   thy  hair,  tho'  erst   from 

gipsy  poir'd. 
By  barber  woven  and  by  barber  sold. 
Though  twisted  smooth  with  Harry's 

nicest  care, 


Like  hoary  bristles  to  erect  and  stare  ! 
The  hero  of  the  mimic  scene,  no  more 
I  start  in  Hamlet,  in  Othello  roar; 
Or,  haughty  Chieftain,  "mid  the  din  of 

arms, 
In   Highland  bonnet  woo   Malvina's 

charms : 
While    sans-culottes    stoop    up    the 

mountain  high. 
And   steal   me   from    Maria's  prying 

eye. 
Blest    Highland    bonnet !    once   my 

proudest  dress, 
Now,  prouder   still,  Maria's    temples 

press  ! 
I  see  her  wave  thy  towering  plumes 

afar, 
And  call  each  coxcomb  to  the  wordy 

war  ! 
I  see  her  face  the  first  of  Ireland's 

sons. 
And    even    out-Irish    his    Hibernian 

bronze  ! 
The  crafty  Colonel  leaves  the  tartan'd 

lines 
For    other  wars,  where    he    a    hero 

shines  ; 
The  hopeful  youth,  in  Scottish  senate 

bred, 
Who  owns  a  Bushby's  heart  without 

the  head, 
Comes  'mid  a  string  of  coxcombs  to 

display 
That  Veji2j  vidi,  via',  is  his  way ; 
The  shrinking  Bard  adown  the  alley 

skulks. 
And   dreads   a   meeting   worse  than 

Woolwich  hulks. 
Though  there  his  heresies  in  Church 

and  State 
Might   w'ell    award    him    Muir    and 

Palmer's   fate : 
Still  she,  undaunted,  reels  and  rattles 

on, 
And  dares  the  public  like  a  noontide 

sun. 
What  scandal  called  Maria's  jaunty 

stagger 
The     ricket    reehng    of    a    crooked 

swagger  ? 


136 


TO  JOHN   RANKINE. 


Whose  spleen  (e'en  worse  than  Burns's 
venom,  when 

He  dips  in  gall  unmixM  his  eager 
pen, 

And  pours  his  vengeance  in  the  burn- 
ing line), 

JV/io  christened  thus  Maria's  lyre- 
divine, 

The  idiot  strum  of  Vanity  bemus'd 

And  even  th'  abuse  of  Poesy  abus'd? 

ll7io  called  her  verse  a  Parish  Work- 
house, made 

For  motley  foundling  Fancies,  stolen 
or  strayed? 

A  Workhouse !  Ah,  that  sound  awakes 
my  woes. 

And  pillows  on  the  thorn  my  racked 
repose  ! 

In  durance  vile  here  must  I  wake  and 
weep, 

And  all  my  frowsy  couch  in  sorrow 
steep : 

That  straw  where  many  a  rogue  has 
lain  of  yore. 

And  vermin'd  gipsies  litter'd  hereto- 
fore. 

Why,   Lonsdale,  thus  thy  wrath   on 

vagrants  pour? 
Must   earth   no    rascal    save    thyself 

endure  ? 
Must   thou   alone  in   guilt   immortal 

swell, 


And  make  a  vast  monopoly  of  Hell? 
Thou  know'st  the  Virtues  cannot  hate 

thee  worse : 
The  Vices  also,  must  they  club  their 

curse  ? 
Or  must  no  tiny  sin  to  others  fall, 
Because  thy  guilt 's  supreme  enough 

for  all? 

Maria,  send  me  too  thy  griefs  and 
cares. 

In  all  of  thee  sure  thy  Esopus 
shares  : 

As  thou  at  all  mankind  the  flag  un- 
furls 

Who  on  my  fair  one  Satire's  ven- 
geance hurls  ! 

Who  calls  thee,  pert,  affected,  vain 

coquette, 
A  wit  in  folly,  and  a  fool  in  wit ! 
Who  says  that  fool  alone  is  not  thy 

due. 
And  quotes  thy  treacheries  to  prove 

it  true  ! 

Our  force  united  on  thy  foes  we  '11 

turn. 
And  dare  the  war  with  all  of  woman 

born : 
For  who  can  write  and  speak  as  thou 

and  I  ? 
My  periods  that  decyphering  defy, 
And  thy  still  matchless  tongue  that 

conquers  all  reply  ! 


NOTES   AND   EPISTLES. 


TO   JOHN   RANKINE. 

IN   REPLY   TO   AN   ANNOUNCEMENT. 

[The  "  announcement  "  was  "that  a  girl 
in  that  neighborhood  was  with  child  "  by 
Robert  Burns.  The  communication  was 
addressed  to  the  poet  after  his  removal  to 
Mossgiel.] 


I. 


I  AM  a  keeper  of  the  law 

In  some  sma'  points,  altho'  not  a' ; 

Some  people  tell  me,  gin  I  fa' 

Ae  way  or  ither. 
The  breaking  of  ae  point,  tho'  sma', 

Breaks  a'  thegither. 


TO  JOHN  GOLDIE. 


137 


II. 

I  hae  been  in  for't  ance  or  twice, 
And  winna  say  o'er  far  for  thrice, 
Yet  never  met  wi'  that  surprise 

That  broke  my  rest. 
But  now  a  rumour 's  like  to  rise  — 

A  whaup  's  i'  the  nest ! 


TO  JOHN   GOLDIE. 

AUGUST,   1785. 

[Mr.  John  Goldie,  or  Goudie,  a  tradesman 
in  Kilmarnock,  was  given  to  mechanical 
and  scientific  studies,  and  in  later  life  ad- 
dicted to  advanced  theology,  upon  which 
he  published  a  series  of  essays.] 


I. 

O  Goudie,  terror  o'  the  Whigs, 
Dread  o'   black   coats   and   rev'rend 

wigs  ! 
Sour  Bigotry  on  her  last  legs 

Girns  and  looks  back, 
Wishing  the  ten  Egyptian  plagues 

May  seize  you  quick. 


II. 

Poor  gapin,  glowrin  Superstition ! 
Wae  's  me,  she  "s  in  a  sad  condition  ! 
Eye!  bring  Black  Jock,  her  state  phy- 
sician. 

To  see  her  water! 
Alas!  there's  ground  for  great  suspi- 
cion 

She'll  ne'er  get  better. 

in. 

Enthusiasm  's  past  redemption  : 
Gane  in  a  gallopin  consumption  : 
Not  a'  her  quacks  wi'  a'  their  gump- 
tion 

Can  ever  mend  her; 
Her  feeble  pulse  gies  strong  presump- 
tion 

She  '11  soon  surrender. 


IV. 

Auld  Orthodoxy  lang  did  grapple 
For  every  hole  to  get  a  stapple ; 
But  now  she  fetches  at  the  thrapple, 

An'  fights  for  breath  : 
Haste,  gie  her  name  up  in  the  chapel, 

Near  unto  death ! 


'T  is  you  an'  Taylor  are  the  chief 
To  blame  for  a'  this  black  mischief; 
But,  gin  the  Lord's  ain  folk  gat  leave, 

A  toom  tar  barrel 
An'  twa  red  peats  wad  bring  relief. 

And  end  the  quarrel. 

VI. 

For  me,  my  skill 's  but  very  sma', 
An'  skill  in  prose  I  've  nane  ava' ; 
But,  quietlenswise  between  us  twa, 

Weel  may  ye  speed ! 
And,  tho'  they  sud  you  sair  misca', 

Ne'er  fash  your  head! 

VII. 

E'en   swinge   the   dogs,   and    thresh 

them  sicker! 
The   mair  they  squeel   ay  chap   the 

thicker, 
And  still  'mang  hands  a  hearty  bicker 

O'  something  stout  ! 
It  gars  an  owthor's  pulse  beat  quicker, 
An'  helps  his  wit. 

VIII. 

There 's   naething    like    the    honest 

nappy : 
Whare  '11  ye  e'er  see  men  sae  happy, 
Or  women  sonsie,  saft,  and  sappy 

'T  ween  morn  and  morn, 
As  them  wha  like  to  taste  the  drappie 

In  glass  or  horn  ? 

IX. 

I  've  seen  me  daez  't  upon  a  time, 
I  scarce  could  wink  or  see  a  styme ; 


138 


TO   J.  LAPRAIK. 


Just  ae  hauf-mutchkin  does  me  prime 
(Ought  less  is  little)  ; 

Then  back  I  rattle  on  the  rhyme 
As  gleg's  a  whittle. 


TO   J.    LAPRAIK. 

THIRD   EPISTLE. 

[Ciomek  printed  tliis  poem  from  a  copy 
preserved  by  the  author,  and  found  among 
the  "  sweepings  of  his  study,"  which  Currie 
and  his  advisers  had  deemed  unworthy  of 
publication.] 


GuiD  speed  and  furder  to  you,  Johnie, 
Guid  health,  hale  han^s  and  weather 

bonie  ! 
Now,   when   ye  Ve   nickin    down    fu' 
cannie 

The  staff  o'  bread, 
May  ye  ne'er  want  a  stoup  o'  branny 
To  clear  your  head  ! 

II- 

May  Boreas  never  thresh  your  rigs, 
Nor  kick  your  rickles  aif  their  legs, 
Sendin  the  stuff  o'er  muirs  an'  haggs 

Like  drivin  wrack  ! 
But  may  the  tapmost  grain  that  wags 

Come  to  the  sack  ! 

III. 

I  'm  bizzie,  too,  an'  skelpin  at  it ; 
But    bitter,  daudin  showers  hae  wat 

Sae  my  auld  stumpie-pen,  I  gat  it, 
Wi'  muckle  wark. 

An'  took  my  jocteleg,  an'  whatt  it 
Like  onie  dark. 

IV. 

It 's   now  twa  month  that  I  'm  your 

debtor 
For    your  braw,   nameless,   dateless 

letter, 


Abusin  me  for  harsh  ill-nature 

On  holy  men. 
While     deil    a    hair    yoursel    ye  're 
better, 

•  But  mair  profane  ! 

V. 

But  let  the  kirk-folk  ring  their  bells  ! 
Let's  sing  about  our  noble  sel's  : 
We  '11  cry  nae  jads  frae  heathen  hills 

To  help  or  roose  us. 
But  browster  wives  an'  whisky  stills  — 

They  are  the  Muses  ! 

VI. 

Your  friendship,  sir,  I  winna  quat  it ; 
An'  if  ye  mak'  objections  at  it. 
Then  hand  in  nieve  some  day  we  '11 
knot  it. 

An'  witness  take ; 
An',  when  wi'  usquabae  we  've  wat  it, 

It  winna  break. 

VII. 

But  if  the  beast  and  branks  be  spar'd 
Till  kye  be  gaun  without  the  herd. 
And  a'  the  vittel  in  the  yard 

An'  theckit  right, 
I  mean  your  ingle-side  to  guard 

Ae  winter  night. 

VIII. 

Then  Muse-inspirin  aqua-vitae 

Shall  mak   us    baith  sae   blythe  an' 

witty. 
Till  ye  forget  ye  're  auld  an'  gatty. 

And  be  as  canty 
As    ye    were    nine    year    less    than 
thretty  — 

Sweet  ane  an'  twenty  ! 

IX. 

But  stooks  are  cowpet  wi'  the  blast, 
And  now  the  sinn  keeks  in  the  wast ; 
Then  I  maun  rin  amang  the  rest. 
An'  quat  my  chanter ; 


TO  THE   REV.  JOHN   M'MATH. 


139 


Sae  I  subscribe  mysel  in  haste, 

Yours,  Rab  the  Ranter. 

Sept.  13,  1785. 


TO  THE   REV.  JOHN   M'MATH 

ENCLOSING  A  COPY  OF  ''  HOLY  WIL- 
LIE'S PRAYER,"  WHICH  HE  HAD 
REQUESTED,  SEPT.   1 7,  1 785. 

(The  Rev.  Mr.  M'Math  was,  when  Burns 
addressed  him,  assistant  and  successor  to  the 
Rev.  Peter  Wodrow,  minister  of  Tarbolton.) 


While   at    the    stook   the   shearers 

cow'r 
To  shun  the  bitter  blaudin  showV, 
Or,  in  gul ravage  rinnin,  scowr  : 

To  pass  the  time, 
To  you  I  dedicate  the  hour 

In  idle  rhyme. 


II. 

My  Musie,  tir'd  wi^  monie  a  sonnet 
On  gown  an'  ban'  an'  douse  black- 
bonnet, 
Is  grown  right  eerie  now  she 's  done 

it, 

Lest  they  should  blame  her, 
An'  rouse  their  holy  thunder  on  it, 
And  anathem  her. 


III. 

I  own  't  was  rash,  an'  rather  hardy. 
That  I,  a  simple,  countra  Bardie, 
Should  meddle  wi'  a  pack  sae  sturdy, 

Wha,  if  they  ken  me, 
Can  easy  wi'  a  single  wordie 

Louse  Hell  upon  me. 

IV. 

But  I  gae  mad  at  their  grimaces. 
Their     sighin,     cantin,    grace-proud 

faces, 
Their    three-mile    prayers    an'   hauf- 

mile  graces. 

Their  raxin  conscience, 


V^hase  greed,  revenge,  an'  pride  dis- 
graces 

Waur  nor  their  nonsense. 


There 's  Gau'n,  misca'd  waur  than  a 

beast, 
Wha  has  mair  honor  in  his  breast 
Than   monie    scores   as   guid  's    the 
priest 

Wha  sae  abus't  him  : 
And  may  a  Bard  no  crack  his  jest 

What  way  they  've  use 't  him  ? 

VI. 

See   him,   the   poor   man's  friend  in 

need, 
The  gentleman  in  word  an'  deed  — 
An'  shall  his  fame  an'  honor  bleed 

By  worthless  skellums, 
An'  not  a  Muse  erect  her  head 

To  cowe  the  blellums  ? 

VII. 

0  Pope,  had  I  thy  satire's  darts 
To  gie  the  rascals  their  deserts, 

1  'd  rip  their  rotten,  hollow  hearts, 

An'  tell  aloud 
Their  jugglin,  hocus-pocus  arts 
To  cheat  the  crowd! 

VIII. 

God    knows.    I  'm    no    the    thins^   I 

should  be. 
Nor   am    I    even   the   thing  I   could 

be. 
But  twenty  times  I  rather  would  be 

An  atheist  clean 
Than  under  gospel  colors  hid  be 
Just  for  a  screen. 

IX. 

An  honest  man  may  like  a  glass. 
An  honest  man  may  like  a  lass ; 
But  mean  revenge  an'  malice  fause 

He  '11  still  disdain 
An'  then  cry  zeal  for  gospel  laws 

Like  some  we  ken. 


I40 


TO   DAVIE. 


X. 

They  take  Religion  in  their  mouth, 
They  talk  o'  Mercy,  Grace,  an'  Truth  : 
For  what?  To  gie  their  malice  skouth 

On  some  puir  wight ; 
An'   hunt  him  down,  o'er  right  an' 
ruth, 

To  ruin  streight. 

XI. 

All  hail.  Religion!     Maid  divine, 
Pardon  a  Muse  sae  mean  as  mine, 
Who  in  her  rough  imperfect  line 

Thus  daurs  to  name  thee 
To  stigmatise  false  friends  of  thine 

Can  ne'er  defame  thee. 

XII. 

Tho'  blotch't  and  foul  wi'  monie  a 

stain 
An'  far  unworthy  of  thy  train. 
With  trembling  voice  I  tune  my  strain 

To  join  with  those 
Who  boldly  dare  thy  cause  maintain 

In  spite  of  foes  : 

XIII. 

In  spite  o'  crowds,  in  spite  o'  mobs, 
In  spite  of  undermining  jobs. 
In  spite  o'  dark  banditti  stabs 

At  worth  an'  merit. 
By  scoundrels,  even  wi'  holy  robes 

But  hellish  spirit! 

XIV. 

O  Ayr !  my  dear,  my  native  ground, 
Within  thy  presbyterial  bound 
A  candid  lib'ral  band  is  found 

Of  public  teachers. 
As  men,  as  Christians  too,  renown'd, 

An'  manly  preachers. 

XV. 

Sir,  in  that  circle  you  are  nam'd ; 
Sir,  in  that  circle  you  are  fam'd ; 
An'  some,  by  whom  your  doctrine 's 
blam'd 

(Which  gies  ye  honor), 


Even,  Sir,  by  them  your  heart's  es- 
teem'd, 

An'  winning  manner. 

XVI. 

Pardon  this  freedom  I  have  taen, 
An'  if  impertinent  Pve  been. 
Impute  it  not,  good  sir,  in  ane 

Whase  heart  ne'er  wrang'd 

But  to  his  utmost  would  befriend 
Ought  that  belang'd  ye. 


TO   DAVIE. 

SECOND   EPISTLE. 

[This  epistle  was  prefixed  to  the  edition 
of  Sillar's  poems,  published  in  Kilmarnock 
in  1789.] 

I. 

AuLD  Neebor, 

I  'm  three  times  doubly  o'er  your 

debtor 
For  your  auld-farrant,  frien'ly  let- 
ter; 
Tho'  I  maun  say't,  I  doubt  ye 
flatter, 

Ye  speak  sae  fair : 
For  my  puir,  silly,  rhymin  clatter 
Some  less  maun  sair. 

II. 

Hale  be  your  heart,  hale  be  your 

fiddle! 
Lang  may  your  elbuck  jink  an' 

diddle 
To  cheer  you  thro'  the  weary  wid- 
dle 

O'  war'ly  cares. 
Till  bairns'  bairns  kindly  cuddle 
Your  auld  grey  hairs ! 

III. 

But   Davie,  lad,   I'm   red  ye 're 
glaikit : 


TO  JOHN   KENNEDY,   DUMFRIES   HOUSE. 


141 


1  'm  tauld  the  iMuse  ye  hae  neg- 

leckit ; 
An'  gif  it 's  sae,  ye  sud  be  lickit 

Until  ye  fyke ; 
Sic  ban's  as  you  sud  ne'er  be  faiket, 

Be  hain't  wha  like. 


IV. 

For  me,  I  'm  on  Parnassus'  brink, 
Rivin  the  words  to  gar  them  clink ; 
Whyles    daez't  \vi'  love,  ^Yhyles 
daez't  wi'  drink 

Wi'  jads  or  Masons, 
An'  whyles,  but  ay  owre   late  I 
think, 

Braw  sober  lessons. 


Of  a'  the  thoughtless  sons  o'  man 
Commen'  me  to  the  Bardie  clan : 
Except  it  be  some  idle  plan 

O'  rhymin  clink  — 
The  devil-haet  that  I  sud  ban !  — 

They  never  think. 


VI. 

Nae    thought,     nae    view,    nae 

scheme  o'  livin, 
Nae  cares  to  gie  us  joy  or  grievin, 
But  just  the  pouchie  put  the  nieve 
in. 

An'  while  ought 's  there, 
Then,      hiltie-skiltie,     we      gae 
scrievin, 

An'  fash  nae  mair. 


VII. 

Leeze  me  on  rhyme!     It's  ay  a 

treasure, 
My  chief,  amaist  my  only  pleasure ; 
At  hame,  a-fiel',  at  wark  or  leisure. 
The  Muse,  poor  hizzie! 
Tho'  rough   an'  raploch  be  her 
measure. 

She 's  seldom  lazy. 


VIII. 

Haud   to  the    Muse,  my  dainty 

Davie : 
The  warl'  may  play  you  monie  a 

shavie. 
But  for  the  Muse,  she  '11   never 
leave  ye, 

Tho'  e'er  sae  puir ; 
Na,  even  tho'  limpin  wi'  the  spavie 
Frae  door  to  door! 


TO     JOHN     KENNEDY,     DUM- 
FRIES  HOUSE. 

[These  verses  form  the  conclusion  of  a 
letter  written  to  Mr.  John  Kennedy  from 
Mossgiel,  March  3,  1786.] 


Now,  Kennedy,  if  foot  or  horse 
E'er  bring  you  in  by  Mauchlin  Corss 
(Lord,  man,  there  's  lasses  there  wad 
force 

A  hermit's  fancy ; 
And  down  the  gate,  in  faith !  they  're 
worse 

An'  mair  unchancy)  : 

II. 

But  as  I  'm  sayin,  please  step  to  Dow's, 
An'  taste  sic  gear  as  Johnie  brews. 
Till  some  bit  callan  bring  me  news 

That  ye  are  there  ; 
An'  if  we  dinna  hae  a  bowse, 

I  'se  ne'er  drink  mair. 

ni. 

It 's  no  I  like  to  sit  an'  swallow, 
Then  like  a  swine  to  puke  an'  wallow ; 
But  gie  me  just  a  true  guid  fallow 

Wi'  right  ingine. 
And  spunkie  ance  to  mak  us  mellow 

An'  then  well  shine! 

IV. 

Now  if  ye  're  ane  o'  warl's  folk, 
Wha  rate  the  wearer  by  the  cloak, 


142 


TO   GAVIN   HAMILTON,   ESQ.— TO   MR.    M'ADAM. 


An'  sklent  on  poverty  their  joke 

Wi'  bitter  sneer, 
Wi'  you  nae  friendship  I  will  troke, 

Nor  cheap  nor  dear. 

V. 

But  if,  as  I  'm  informed  weel, 
Ye  hate  as  ill 's  the  vera  Deil 
The  flinty  heart  that  canna  feel  — 

Come,  sir,  here  's  tae  you  ! 
Hae,  there 's  my  han\  I  wiss  you  weel, 

An'  Gude  be  wi'  you  ! 

ROBT.    BURNESS. 

MOSSGIEL,  yd  March,  1786. 


TO    GAVIN     HAMILTON,   ESQ., 
MAUCHLINE. 

RECOMMENDING  A  BOY. 

[Master  Tootie  was  a  cattle-dealer  in 
Mauchline,  who  disguised  the  age  of  his 
cattle  by  polishing  away  the  markings  on 
their  horns.] 

MOSSGAVILLE,  Mayo^,  1786. 

I  HOLD  it,  Sir,  my  bounden  duty 
To  warn  you  how  that  Master  Tootie, 

Alias  Laird  M'Gaun, 
Was  here  to  hire  yon  lad  away 
'Bout  whom  ye  spak  the  tither  day, 

An'  wad  hae  don't  aff  han' ; 
But  lest  he  learn  the  callan  tricks  — 
As  faith  !  I  muckle  doubt  him  — 
Like    scrapin    out    auld    Crummie's 
nicks. 
An'  tellin'  lies  about  them. 
As  lieve  then,  I  'd  have  then 

Your  clerkship  he  should  sair, 
If  sae  be  ye  may  be 
Not  fitted  otherwhere. 

Altho'  I  say't,  he  's  gleg  enough, 
An'   bout   a   house    that's    rude   an' 
rough 

The  boy  might  learn  to  swear ; 
But  then  ^\!  yoii  he  '11  be  sae  taught. 
An'  get  sic  fair  example  straught, 

I  hae  na  onie  fear ; 


Ye  '11  catechise  him  every  quirk. 

An'  shore  him  weel  wi'  '■  Hell ' ; 
An'  gar  him  follow  to  the  kirk  — 
Ay  when  ye  gang  yoursel ! 
If  ye,  then,  maun  be  then 

Frae  hame  this  comin  Friday, 
Then  please,  Sir,  to  lea'e.  Sir, 
The  orders  wi'  your  lady. 

My  word  of  honour  I  hae  gien. 

In  Paisley  John's  that  night  at  e'en 

To  meet  the  '  warld's  worm,' 
To  try  to  get  the  twa  to  gree, 
An'  name  the  airles  an'  the  fee 

In  legal  mode  an'  form  : 
I  ken  he  weel  a  snick  can  draw, 
When  simple  bodies  let  him ; 
An'  if  a  Devil  be  at  a'. 

In  faith  he's  sure  to  get  him. 
To  phrase  you  an'  praise  you, 

Ye  ken,  your  Laureat  scorns : 
The  pray'r  still  you  share  still 
Of  grateful  Minstrel  Burns. 


TO  MR.  M'ADAM  of  CRAIGEN- 
GILLAN. 

in  answer  to  an  obliging  letter 
HE  sent  in  the  commencement 

OF   MY   POETIC   career. 

[Cunningham  tells  us  that  the  factor  to 
Craigen-Gillan  was  the  poet's  friend  Wood- 
burn,  who  was  an  early  acquaintance  of 
Burns.] 

I. 

Sir,  o'er  a  gill  I  gat  your  card, 

I  trow  it  made  me  proud. 
*  See  wha  taks  notice  o'  the  Bard  ! ' 

I  lap,  and  cry'd  fu'  loud. 


IT. 

Now  deil-ma-care  about  their  jaw. 
The  senseless,  gawky  million  ! 

T 11  cock  my  nose  aboon  them  a' : 
I  'm  roos'd  by  Craigen-Gillan  ! 


REPLY  TO   AN   INVITATION.  —  TO   JOHN   KENNEDY, 


143 


III. 


T  was  noble,  sir ;  't  was  like  yousel, 
To  grant  your  high  protection  : 

A  great  man's  smile,  ye  ken  fu'  well, 
Is  ay  a  blest  infection. 


IV. 

Tho',  by  his  banes  wha  in  a  tub 
MatchM  Macedonian  Sandy! 

On  my  ain  legs  thro'  dirt  and  dub 
I  independent  stand  ay ; 

V. 

And  when  those  legs  to  guid  w^arm 
kail 

Wi'  welcome  canna  bear  me, 
A  lee  dyke-side,  a  sybow-tail. 

An'  barley-scone  shall  cheer  me. 

VI. 

Heaven  spare  you  lang  to  kiss  the 
breath 
O'  monie  flow'ry  simmers, 
An'  bless  your  bonie  lasses  baith 
(I'm   tauld  they're  loosome  kim- 
mers) ! 

VII. 

An'    God   bless    young    Dunaskin's 
laird, 
The  blossom  of  our  gentry, 
An'    may   he   wear    an    auld    man's 
beard, 
A  credit  to  his  country! 


REPLY   TO   AN   INVITATION. 

[Written  doubtless  in  a  tavern.  The 
original  Ms.  is  in  the  possession  of  the 
Paisley  Burns  Club.] 

Sir, 

Yours  this  moment  I  unseal. 

And  faith  !  I  'm  gay  and  hearty. 
To  tell  the  truth  and  shame  the 
Deil, 
I  am  as  fou  as  Bartie. 


But  Foorsday,  Sir,  my  promise  leal, 
•    Expect  me  o'  your  partie. 
If  on  a  beastie  I  can  speel 
Or  hurl  in  a  cartie. 

Yours,  —  Robert  Burns. 

Machlin, 
Monday  Night,  10  o'clock. 


TO   DR.   MACKENZIE. 

An  Invitation  to  a  Masonic  Gatkerifig. 

[Dr.  James  Mackenzie,  one  of  the  poet's 
warmest  friends,  practised  medicine  at 
Mauchline.  He  introduced  the  poet  to  Sir 
James  Whitefoord,  Professor  Dugald  Stew- 
art, and  other  persons  of  influence.] 

Friday  first 's  the  day  appointed 
By  our  Right  Worshipful  Anointed 

To  hold  our  grand  possession. 
To  get  a  blaud  o'  Johnie's  morals, 
An'  taste  a  swatch  o'  Manson's  barrels 

r  th'  way  of  our  profession. 
Our  Master  and  the  Brotherhood 

Wad  a'  be  glad  to  see  you. 
For  me,  I  wad  be  mair  than  proud 
To  share  the  mercies  wi'  you. 
If  Death,  then,  wd'  skaith  then 

Some  mortal  heart  is  hechtin. 
Inform  him,  an'  storm  him, 
That  Saturday  ye  "11  fecht  him. 
Robert  Burns,  D.M. 

MOSSGIEL,  lJ[th  Jwie,  A.M.  5790. 


TO  JOHN   KENNEDY. 

A  Farewell. 

[These  lines  form  the  conclusion  of  a 
letter  written  by  Burns  to  Mr.  John  Ken- 
nedy in  August,  1786,  while  his  intention 
yet  held  of  emigrating  to  America.] 

Farewell,  dear   friend!    may   guid 

luck  hit  you, 
And  'mong  her  favourites  admit  you  ! 


144 


TO  AN   OLD   SWEETHEART. 


If  e'er  Detraction  shore  to  smit  you, 
May  nane  believe  him ! 

And  onie  deil  that  thinks  to  get  you, 
Good  Lord,  deceive  him ! 


TO     WILLIE     CHALMERS' 
SWEETHEART. 

[Mr.  Chalmers  was  a  writer  in  Ayr,  and 
in  love.  He  desired  Burns  to  address  the 
lady  in  his  behalf.] 


Wi'  braw  new  branks  in  mickle  pride. 

And  eke  a  braw  new  brechen, 
My  Pegasus  I  'm  got  astride. 

And  up  Parnassus  pechin  : 
Whyles   owre  a  bush  wi'  downward 
crush 

The  doited  beastie  stammers  ; 
Then  up  he  gets,  and  off  he  sets 

For  sake  o'  Willie  Chalmers. 

II. 

I  doubt  na,  lass,  that  weel  kend  name 

May  cost  a  pair  o'  blushes  : 
I  am  nae  stranger  to  your  fame. 

Nor  his  warm-urged  wishes  : 
Your  bonie  face,  sae  mild  and  sweet. 

His  honest  heart  enamours  ; 
And  faith  !  ye  '11  no  be  lost  a  whit, 

Tho'  wair'd  on  Willie  Chalmers. 

III. 

Auld  Truth  hersel  might  swear  ye  're 
fair. 

And  Honor  safely  back  her ; 
And  Modesty  assume  your  air. 

And  ne'er  a  ane  mistak  her ; 
And  sic  twa  love-inspiring  een 

Might  fire  even  holy  palmers  : 
Nae  wonder  then  they  've  fatal  been 

To  honest  Willie  Chalmers! 

IV. 

I  doubt  na  Fortune  may  you  shore 
Some  mim-mou'd,  pouther'd  pries- 
tie, 


Fu'  lifted  up  wi'  Hebrew  lore 
And  band  upon  his  breastie  ; 

But  O,  what  signifies  to  you 
His  lexicons  and  grammars? 

The  feeling  heart 's  the  royal  blue, 
And  that 's  wi'  Willie  Chalmers. 


V. 

Some  gapin,  glowrin  countra  laird 

May  warsle  for  your  favour : 
May   claw    his    lug,    and    straik    his 
beard, 

And  hoast  up  some  palaver. 
My  bonie  maid,  before  ye  wed 

Sic  clumsy-witted  hammers. 
Seek   Heaven  for  help,   and   barefit 
skelp 

Awa  wi'  Willie  Chalmers. 


VI. 

Forgive  the  Bard!     My  fond  regard 

For  ane  that  shares  my  bosom 
Inspires  my  Muse  to  gie  'm  his  dues, 

For  deil  a  hair  I  roose  him. 
May  Powers  aboon  unite  you  soon. 

And  fructify  your  amours, 
And  every  year  come  in  mair  dear 

To  you  and  Willie  Chalmers ! 


TO   AN   OLD   SWEETHEART. 

WRITTEN  ON   A  COPY  OF  HIS  POEMS 

[The  sweetheart  was  Peggy  Thomson  of 
Kirkoswald.] 

I. 

Once  fondly  lov'd  and  still  remem- 
ber'd  dear, 
Sweet  early  object  of  my  youthful 
vows, 
Accept  this  mark  of  friendship,  warm, 
sincere  — 
(Friendship  !  't  is  all  cold  duty  now 
allows)  ; 


EXTEMPORE  TO  GAVIN  HAMILTON. 


H5 


II. 

And  when  you  read  the  simple  art- 
less rhymes, 
One  friendly  sigh  for  him  —  he  asks 
no  more  — 
Who.  distant,  burns  in  flaming  torrid 
climes, 
Or  haply  lies  beneath  th'  Atlantic 
roar. 


EXTEMPORE   TO   GAVIN 
HAMILTON. 

STANZAS   ON   NAETHING. 

[Published  for  the  first  time  in  Alexander 
Smith's  edition,  and  extracted,  it  is  sup- 
posed, from  the  copy  of  his  "  Common- 
Place  Book"  which  Burns  presented  to  his 
friend  Mrs.  Dunlop.] 

I. 

To  you.  Sir,  this  summons  I  Ve  sent 
(Pray,    whip    till    the    pownie    is 
fraething!)  ; 

But  if  you  demand  what  I  want, 
I  honestly  answer  you  —  naething. 

II. 

Ne'er  scorn  a  poor  Poet  like  me 
For  idly  just  Hving  and  breathing, 

While  people  of  every  degree 

Are  busy  employed   about  —  nae- 
thing. 

III. 

Poor  Centum-per-Centum  may  fast, 
And    grumble    his     hurdles    their 
claithing ; 
He  '11  find,  when  the  balance  is  cast, 
He's  gane  to  the  Devil  for  —  nae- 
thing. 

IV. 

The  courtier  cringes  and  bows  ; 
Ambition    has    likewise    its   play- 
thing — 


A  coronet  beams  on  his  brows ; 
And    what   is   a  coronet  ?  —  Nae- 
thinsf. 


Some  quarrel  the  Presbyter  gown, 
Some  quarrel  Episcopal  graithing ; 

But  every  good  fellow  will  own 
The    quarrel    is    a'    about  —  nae- 
thing. 

VI. 

The  lover  may  sparkle  and  glow, 
Approaching    his    bonie    bit    gay 
thing ; 
But  marriage  will  soon  let  him  know 
He 's    gotten  —  a    buskit-up    nae- 
thing. 

VII. 

The  Poet  may  jingle  and  rhyme 
In  hopes  of  a  laureate  wreathing, 

And  w'hen  he  has  wasted  his  time, 
He  's  kindly  rewarded  with  —  nae- 
thing. 

VIII. 

The  thundering  bully  may  rage, 
And    swagger    and    swear    like   a 
heathen ; 
But  collar  him  fast,  I  '11  engage, 
You  '11  find  that  his  courage  is  — 
naething. 

IX. 

Last  night  with  a  feminine  Whig  — 
A  poet  she  couldna  put  faith  in! 

But  soon  we  grew  lovingly  big, 

I   taught   her,   her  terrors  were  — 
naething. 


Her  Whigship  was  wonderful  pleased, 
But  charmingly  tickled  wi"  ae  thing  ; 

Her  fingers  I  lovingly  squeezed, 
And  kissed  her,  and  promised  her 
—  naething. 


146 


REPLY  TO  A  TRIMMING   EPISTLE   FROM   A  TAILOR. 


XI. 

The  priest  anathemas  may  threat — - 
Predicament,  sir,  that  weVe  baith 
in  ; 
But  when  Honor's  reveille  is  beat, 


The  holy  artillery  "'s 


naething. 


XII. 


And  now  I  must  mount  on  the  wave : 
My  voyage  perhaps  there  is  death 
in; 

But  what  is  a  watery  grave  ? 

The    drowning    a   Poet   is  —  nae- 


thinj 


XIII. 


AntJ    now,   as   grim    Death 's  in   my 
thought, 
To  you.  Sir,  I  make  this  bequeath- 
ing: 
My  service  as  long  as  ye  've  ought, 
And  my  friendship,  by  God,  when 
ye  Ve  —  naething. 


REPLY  TO  A  TRIMMING  EPIS- 
TLE RECEIVED  FROM  A 
TAILOR. 

[The  tailor  was  one  Thomas  Walker, 
who  resided  at  Pool,-  near  Ochiltree.  The 
reply  voices  the  ribald  disdain  entertained 
by  the  Scots  peasantry  for  the  disciplinary 
processes  of  the  Kirk.] 

I. 

What  ails  ye  now,  ye  lousie  bitch, 
To  thresh  my  back  at  sic  a  pitch  ? 
Losh,  man,  hae  mercy  wi'  your  natch! 

Your  bodkin 's  bauld  : 
I  didna  suffer  half  sae  much 

Frae  Daddie  Auld. 

'     II. 

What  tho'  at  times,  when  I  grow 
crouse, 


I  gie  their  wames  a  random  pouse, 
Is  that  enough  for  you  to  souse 

Your  servant  sae  ? 
Gae   mind  your  seam,  ye  prick-the- 
louse 

An'  jag-the-flae! 

III. 

King  David  o'  poetic  brief 

Wrocht  'mang  the  lasses  sic  mischief 

As  fiird  his  after-life  with  grief 

An^  bloody  rants ; 
An'  yet  he  's  ranked  amang  the  chief 

O'  lang-syne  saunts. 

IV. 

And  maybe,  Tam,  for  a'  my  cants. 
My  wicked  rhymes  an'  drucken  rants, 
I  '11  gie  auld  Cloven-Clootie's  haunts 

An  unco  slip  yet, 
An'  snugly  sit  amang  the  saunts 

At  Davie's  hip  yet! 

V. 

But,  fegs!  the  Session  says  I  maun 

Gae  fa'  upo'  anither  plan 

Than  garrin  lasses  coup  the  cran, 

Clean  heels  owre  body. 
An  sairly  thole  their  mither's  ban 

Afore  the  howdy. 

VI. 

This  leads  me  on  to  tell  for  sport 
How  I  did  wi'  the  Session  sort : 
Auld  Clinkum  at  the  inner  port 

Cried  three  times  :  —  'Robin! 
Come  hither  lad,  and  answer  for 't. 

Ye  're  blam'd  for  jobbin! ' 

VII. 

Wi'  pinch  I  put  a  Sunday's  face  on. 
An'  snoov'd  awa'  before  the  Session : 
I  made  an  open,  fair  confession  — 

I  scorn'd  to  lie  — 
An'  syne  Mess  John,  beyond  expres- 
sion. 

Fell  foul  o'  me. 


TO   MAJOR   LOGAN. 


147 


VIII. 

A  fornicator-loun  lie  calPd  me, 

An'  said  my  faut  frae  bliss  expell'd  me. 

I  own'd  the  tale  was  true  he  tell'd  me, 

'  But,  what  the  matter  ? ' 
(Quo'  I)  '  I  fear  unless  ye  geld  me, 

I  '11  ne'er  be  better! ' 

IX. 

'  Geld  you ! '  (quo'  he)  '■  an'  what  for  no  ? 
If  that  your  right  hand,  leg,  or  toe 
Should  ever  prove  your  spiritual  foe, 

You  should  remember 
To  cut  it  aff ;  an'  what  for  no 

Your  dearest  member?' 

X. 

^Na,  na'  (quo'  I),  '  I  'm  no  for  that. 
Gelding 's  nae  better  than  't  is  ca  't ; 
I  'd  rather  suffer  for  my  faut 

A  hearty  fievvit. 
As  sair  owTe  hip  as  ye  can  draw't, 

Tho'  I  should  rue  it. 

XI. 

'  Or,  gin  ye  like  to  end  the  bother. 
To  please  us  a'  —  I  've  just  ae  ither : 
When  next  wi'  yon  lass  I  forgather, 

Whate'er  betide  it, 
I  "11  frankly  gie  her 't  a'  thegither, 

An'  let  her  guidje  it.' 

XII. 

But,  Sir,  this  pleas'd  them  warst  of  a'. 
An'  therefore,  Tam,  when  that  I  saw, 
I  said  '■  Guid-night,'  an'  cam  awa, 

An'  left  the  Session  : 
I  saw  they  were  resolved  a' 

On  my  oppression. 


TO   MAJOR   LOGAN. 

[Major  Logan,  a  retired  military  ofificer, 
fond  of  wit,  violin  playing,  and  conviviality, 
who  lived  at  Park  Villa,  near  Ayr.] 


Hail,  thairm-inspirin,  rattlin  Willie  ! 
Tho'  Fortune's  road  be  rough  an'  hillv 


To  every  fiddling,  rhyming  billie, 

We  never  heed, 
But  take  it  like  the  unbrack'd  filly 

Proud  o'  her  speed. 

II. 

When,  idly  goavin,  whyles  we  saunter, 
Yirr!     Fancy  barks,  awa  we  canter, 
Up  hill,  down  brae,  till  some  mishanter, 

Some  black  bog-hole, 
Arrests  us  ;  then  the  scathe  an'  banter 

We  *re  forced  to  thole. 

III. 

Hale  be  your  heart !  hale  be  your  fiddle ! 
Lang  may  your  elbuck  jink  an'  diddle, 
To  cheer  you  through  the  weary  widdle 

O'  this  vile  warP, 
Until  you  on  a  cummock  driddle, 

A  grey-hair'd  carl. 

IV. 

Come  wealth,  come  poortith,  late  or 

soon, 
Heaven  send  your  heart-strings  ay  in 

tune. 
And  screw  your  temper-pins  aboon 

(A  fifth  or  mair) 
The  melancholious,  sairie  croon 
O'  cankrie  Care. 

V. 

May  still  your  life  from  day  to  day, 
Nae  loite  largo  in  the  play 
But  allegretto  forte  gay, 

Harmonious  flow, 
A  sweeping,   kindling,  bauld  strath- 
spey— 

Encore  I  Bravo  I 


VI. 

A'  blessings  on  the  cheery  gang, 
Wha  dearly  like  a  jig  or  sang. 
An'  never  think  o'  \\<A\\  an'  wrang 

By  square  an'  rule. 
But  as  the  clegs  o'  feeling  stang 

Are  wise  or  fool. 


148 


TO   THE   GUIDWIFE   OF   WAUCHOPE   HOUSE. 


VII. 

My   hand-wal'd   curse   keep   hard  in 

chase 
The    harpy,    hoodock,     purse-proud 

race, 
Wha  count  on  poortith  as  disgrace! 

Their  tuneless  hearts, 
May  fireside  discords  jar  a  bass 
To  a'  their  parts  ! 

VIII. 

But   come,   your   hand,  my   careless 

brither ! 
r  th'  ither  warP,  if  there's  anither — 
An'  that  there  is,  I  Ve  little  swither 

About  the  matter  — 
We,  cheek  for  chow,  shall  jog  the- 
gither  — 

I  'se  ne'er  bid  better  ! 


IX. 

We  've   faults   and   failins  —  granted 

clearly! 
We're     frail,     backsliding     mortals 

merely ; 
Eve's  bonie  squad,  priests  wyte  them 

sheerly 

For  our  grand  fa' ; 
But    still,    but    still  —  I    like    them 

dearly  .   .  . 

God  bless  them  a' ! 


X. 

Ochon  for  poor  Castalian  drinkers. 
When  they  fa'  foul  o'  earthly  jinkers  ! 
The  witching,  curs'd,  delicious  bhnk- 
ers 

Hae  put  me  hyte. 
An'  gart  me  weet  my  waukrife  wink- 
ers 

Wi'  girnin  spite. 


XI. 

But  by  yon  moon  —  and  that 's  high 


swearm 


An'  every  star  within  my  hearin, 


An'  by  her  een  w^ha  was  a  dear  ane 

I  '11  ne'er  forget, 
I  hope  to  gie  the  jads  a  clearin 

In  fair  play  yet ! 

XII. 

My  loss  I  mourn,  but  not  repent  it ; 
I  '11  seek  my  pursie  whare  I  tint  it ; 
Ance  to  the  Indies  I  were  wonted, 

Some  cantraip  hour 
By  some  sweet  elf  I  '11  yet  be  dinted : 

Then  vive  I  ''a?nour ! 

XIII. 

Faites  Jiies  baissemahis  respecUieiish 

To  sentimental  sister  Susie 

And  honest  Lucky :  no  to  roose  you, 

Ye  may  be  proud, 
That  sic  a  couple  Fate  allows  ye 

To  grace  your  blood. 

XIV. 

Nae  mair  at  present  can  I  measure, 
An'  trowth  !  my  rhymin  ware 's  nae 

treasure ; 
But   when  in  Ayr,  some  half-hour's 
leisure. 

Be  't  light,  be  't  dark. 
Sir  Bard  will  do  himself  the  pleasure 
To  call  at  Park. 

Robert  Burns. 

MOSSGIEL,  30//Z  October,  1786. 


TO    THE    GUIDWIFE    OF 
WAUCHOPE    HOUSE. 

(MRS.   SCOTT.) 

[Mrs.  Scott  of  Wauchope,  Roxburgh- 
shire, had  sent  a  rhymed  epistle  to  Burns, 
displaying  considerable  vigor  of  thought 
and  neatness  of  expression.] 

I. 

GuiD  Wife, 

I  mind  it  weel,  in  early  date. 
When  I  was  beardless,  young,  and 
blate, 


TO   WILLIAM   TYTLER,   ESQ. 


149 


An'  first  could  thresh  the  barn, 
Or  hand  a  yokin  at  the  pleugh, 
An\  tho'  forfoughten  sair  eneugh, 

Yet  unco  proud  to  learn  ; 
When  first  amang  the  yellow  corn 

A  man  1  reckon'd  was, 
An'  wi'  the  lave  ilk  merry  morn 
Could  rank  my  rig  and  lass  : 
Still  shearing,  and  clearing 
The  tither  stooked  raw, 
Wi'  clavers  an'  havers 
Wearing  the  day  awa. 

II. 

E'en  then,  a  wish  (I  mind  its  pow'r), 
A  wish  that  to  my  latest  hour 

Shall  strongly  heave  my  breast, 
That  I  for  poor  auld  Scotland's  sake 
Some  usefu'plan  or  book  could  make. 

Or  sing  a  sang  at  least. 
The  rough  burr-thistle  spreading  wide 

Amang  the  bearded  bear, 
I  turn'd  the  weeder-clips  aside. 
An'  spar'd  the  symbol  dear. 
No  nation,  no  station 

My  envy  e'er  could  raise  ; 
A  Scot  still,  but  blot  still, 
I  knew  nae  higher  praise. 

III. 

But -still  the  elements  o'  sang 

In  formless  jumble,  right  an'  wrang. 

Wild  floated  in  my  brain ; 
Till  on  that  hairst  I  said  before, 
My  partner  in  the  merry  core. 

She  rous'd  the  forming  strain. 
I  see  her  yet,  the  sonsie  quean 

That  lighted  up  my  jingle. 
Her  witching  smile,  her  pauky  een 
That  gart  my  heart-strings  tingle! 
I  fired,  inspired. 

At  ev'ry  kindling  keek. 
But,  bashing  and  dashing, 
I  feared  ay  to  speak. 

IV. 

Hale  to  the  sex!  (ilk guid  chiel  says)  : 
Wi"  merry  dance  on  winter  days. 
An'  we  to  share  in  common! 


The  gust  o'  joy,  the  balm  of  woe, 
The  saul  o'  life,  the  heav'n  below 

Is  rapture-giving  Woman. 
Ye  surly  sumphs,  who  hate  the  name, 

Be  mindfu'  o'  your  mither : 
She,  honest  woman,  may  think  shame 
That  ye 're  connected  with  her! 
Ye  're  wae  men,  ye  're  nae  men 
That  slight  the  lovely  dears ; 
To  shame  ye,  disclaim  ye, 
Ilk  honest  birkie  swears. 


V. 

For  you,  no  bred  to  barn  and  byre, 
Wha  sweetly  tune  the  Scottish  lyre, 

Thanks  to  you  for  your  line! 
The  marl'd  plaid  ye  kindly  spare, 
By  me  should  gratefully  be  ware ; 

'Twad  please  me  to  the  nine. 
I  'd  be  mair  vauntie  o'  my  hap. 

Douce  hingin  owre  my  curple, 
Than  onie  ermine  ever  lap. 
Or  proud  imperial  purple. 

Farewell,  then!  lang  hale,  then, 

An'  plenty  be  your  fa' ! 
May  losses  and  crosses 
Ne'er  at  your  hallan  ca' ! 

R.  Burns. 
March,  1787. 


TO    WM.     TYTLER,    ESQ.,    OF 
WOODHOUSELEE, 

WITH    AN    IMPRESSION   OF   THE 
author's  PORTRAIT.- 

[Mr.  Tytler  had  published  an  "  Inquiry, 
Historical  and  Critical,  into  the  evidence 
against  Mary  Queen  of  Scots."] 

I. 

Revered  defender  of  beauteous  Stu- 
art, 
Of  Stuart !  —  a  name  once  respected, 
A  name  which  to  love  was  once  mark 
of  a  true  heart. 
But  now  'tis  despis'd  and  neglected! 


ISO 


TO   MR.    RENTON.  — TO   MISS   ISABELLA   MACLEOD. 


II. 

Tho'   something  like   moisture   con- 
globes  in  my  eye  — 
Let  no  one  misdeem  me  disloyal! 
A  poor  friendless  wand'rer  may  well 
claim  a  sigh  — 
Still  more,  if  that  wandVer  were 
royal. 

III. 

My  Fathers  that  name  have  rever'd 
on  a  throne ; 
My  Fathers  have  fallen  to  right  it : 
Those  Fathers  would  spurn  their  de- 
generate son, 
That   name,   should   he   scoffingly 
slight  it. 

IV. 

Still  in  prayers  for   King  George   I 
most  heartily  join, 
The  Queen,  and   the   rest   of  the 
gentry ; 
Be  they  wise,  be  they  foolish,  is  noth- 
ing of  mine : 
Their  title 's  avow'd  by  my  country. 


But  why  of  that  epocha  make  such  a 

fuss 

That  gave  us  the  Hanover  stem? 

If  bringing  them  over  was  lucky  for 

us, 

I  'm  sure  't  was  as  lucky  for  them. 

VI. 

But  loyalty  —  truce !   we  Ve  on  dan- 
gerous ground : 
Who  knows  how  the  fashions  may 
alter? 
The  doctrine,  to-day,  that  is  loyalty 
sound, 
To-morrow  may  bring  us  a  halter! 

VII. 

I  send  you  a  trifle,  a  head  of  a  Bard, 
A  trifle  scarce  worthy  your  care  ; 


But  accept  it,  good  Sir,  as  a  mark  of 
regard. 
Sincere  as  a  saint's  dying  prayer. 


VIII. 

Now  Life's  chilly  evening  dim-shades 

on  your  eye. 

And  ushers  the  long  dreary  night ; 

But  you,  like  the  star  that  athwart 

gilds  the  sky, 

Your  course  to  the  latest  is  bright. 


TO  MR.  RENTON   OF  LAMER- 
TON. 

[Sent  to  Mr.  Renton,  Mordington  House, 
Berwickshire,  probably  during  tlie  poet's 
Border  tour,  though  Renton  is  not  men- 
tioned in  his  journal.  Published  in  Cham- 
bers, 1851.] 

Your  billet.  Sir,  I  grant  receipt ; 
Wi'  you  I  "11  canter  onie  gate, 
Tho'  'twere  a  trip  to  yon  blue  warP 
Where    birkies    march    on    burning 

marl : 
Then,   Sir,  God  willing,   I  '11  attend 

And  to  His  goodness  I  commend  ye. 

R.  Burns. 


TO  MISS  ISABELLA  MACLEOD. 

[Published  in  a  Dumfries  newspaper 
and  again  in  "  The  Burns  Chronicle  "  (1895) 
from  the  manuscript  in  the  possession  of 
Mrs.  Vincent  Burns  Scott,  Adelaide.] 

Edinburgh,  March  16, 1787. 

I. 

The  crimson  blossom  charms  the  bee, 
The  summer  sun  the  swallow  : 

So  dear  this  tuneful  gift  to  me 
From  lovely  Isabella. 


TO   SYMOX    GRAY.  — TO    MISS    FERRIER; 


15J 


II. 


Her  portrait  fair  upon  my  mind 
Revolving  time  shall  mellow, 

And  mem'ry's  latest  effort  find 
The  lovely  Isabella. 


III. 


No  Bard  nor  lover's  rapture  this 
In  fancies  vain  and  shallow  ! 

She  is,  so  come  my  soul  to  bliss, 
The  Lovely  Isabella  ! 


TO    SYiMON  GRAY. 

[Svmon  Gray  lived  near  Duns,  and  while 
Burns  was  on  his  Border  tour  sent  him 
some  verses  for  his  opinion.] 


Symon  Gray,  you  "re  dull  to-day  ! 

Dullness  with  redoubled  sway 

Has  seized  the  wits  of  Symon  Gray. 


II. 

Dear  Symon  Gray,  the  other  day 
When  you  sent  me  some  rhyme, 

I  could  not  then  just  ascertain 
Its  worth  for  want  of  time  ; 


III. 

But  now  to-day,  good  Mr.  Gray, 
I  \'e  read  it  o"er  and  o'er : 

Tried  all  my  skill,  but  find  I  "m  still 
Just  where  I  was  before. 


IV. 

We  auld  wives'  minions  gie  our  opin- 
ions. 

Solicited  or  no  ; 
Then  of  its  fauts  my  honest  thoughts 

I  'U  give  —  and  here  they  go  : 


Such  damn'd  bombdst  no  age  that's 
past 

Can  show,  nor  time  to  come  ; 
So,  Symon  dear,  your  song  I  "11  tear, 

And  with  it  wipe  my  bum. 


TO   MISS   FERRIER. 

[Eldest  daughter  of  James  Ferrier,  writer 
to  the  Signet,  and  sister  of  Miss  Ferrier  the 
novelist.] 

I. 

Nae  heathen  name  shall  I  prefix 
Frae  Pindus  or  Parnassus  ; 

Auld  Reekie  dings  them  a'  to  sticks 
For  rhyme-inspiring  lasses. 


II. 

Jove's   tunefu'  dochters   three  times 
three 

Made  Homer  deep  their  debtor ; 
But  gien  the  body  half  an  e'e. 

Nine  Ferriers  wad  done  better! 


III. 

Last  day  my  mind  was  in  a  bog ; 

Down  George's  Street  I  stoited ; 
A  creeping,  cauld,  prosaic  fog 

My  very  senses  doited  ; 


IV. 

Do  what  I  dought  to  set  her  free. 
My  saul  lay  in  the  mire : 

Ye  turned  a  neuk,  I  saw  your  e'e. 
She  took  the  wing  like  fire  ! 


The  mournfir  sang  I  here  enclose, 

In  gratitude  I  send  you. 
And  pray,  in  rhyme  as  weel  as  prose, 

A'  ooiid  things  mav  attend  vou  ! 


152 


SYLVANDER  TO   CLARINDA.— TO   CLARINDA. 


SYLVANDER   TO   CLARINDA. 

[Clarinda  was  Mrs.  Agnes  Maclehose, 
daughter  of  Andrew  Craig,  surgeon,  Glas- 
gow.   See  Notes.] 


When  dear  Clarinda,  matchless  fair, 
First   stmck    Sylvander's    raptur'd 
view, 

He  gaz'd,  he  listened  to  despair  — 
Alas  !  't  was  all  he  dared  to  do. 


II. 

Love  from  Clarinda's  heavenly  e3^es 
Transfix'd    his    bosom    thro'   and 
thro, 
But    still    in    Friendship's     guarded 
guise  — 
For  more  the  demon  fear'd  to  do. 

III. 

That  heart,  already  more  than  lost, 
The  imp  beleaguer'd  all  perdu  ; 

For  frowning  Honor  kept  his  post  — 
To  meet  that  frown  he  shrunk  to 
do. 

IV. 

His  pangs  the  Bard  refus'd  to  own, 

Tho'  half  he  wish'd  Clarinda  knew  ; 
But   Anguish   wrung   the   unweeting 
groan  — 
Who    blames   what    frantic    Pain 
must  do? 


That     heart,    where     motley    follies 
blend, 

Was  sternly  still  to  Honor  true  : 
To  prove  Clarinda's  fondest  friend 

Was  what  a  lover,  sure,  might  do! 

VI. 

The  Muse  his  ready  quill  employed ; 
No  nearer  bliss  he  could  pursue  ; 


That  bliss  Clarinda  cold  deny'd  — 
'  Send  word   by  Charles   how  you 
do!' 

VII. 

The  chill  behest  disarmed  his  Muse, 
Till  Passion  all  impatient  grew : 

He  wrote,  and  hinted  for  excuse, 
'  'T  was  "cause  he'd  nothing  else  to 
do.' 

VIII. 

But  by  those  hopes  I  have  above  ! 

And  by  those  faults  I  dearly  rue  ! 
The  deed,  the  boldest  mark  of  love, 

For  thee  that  deed  I  dare  to  do  ! 

IX. 

O,  could    the   Fates   but   name   the 
price 
Would  bless  me  with  your  charms 
and  you, 
With  frantic  joy  I  'd  pay  it  thrice, 
If  human  art  or  power  could  do  ! 

X. 

Then     take,     Clarinda,     friendship's 
hand 
(Friendship,  at  least,  I  may  avow). 
And   lay   no   more   your   chill   com- 
mand — 
I  '11  write,  whatever  I  've  to  do. 

SYLVANDER. 
Wednesday  7tight. 


TO    CLARINDA. 

WITH   A   PAIR   OF  WINE-GLASSES. 

[The  glasses  were  sent  as  a  parting 
gift  when  Burns  left  Edinburgh,  March  24, 
1788.] 


Fair  Empress  of  the  Poet's  soul 
And  Queen  of  Poetesses, 

Clarinda,  take  this  little  boon, 
This  humble  pair  of  glasses  ; 


TO   HUGH    PARKER.— TO   ALEX.    CUNNINGHAM. 


153 


II. 


And  fill  them  up  with  generous  juice, 
As  generous  as  your  mind ; 

And   pledge   them   to   the   generous 
toast : 
'  The  whole  of  human  kind  ! ' 


III. 


'  To  those  who  love  us  ! '  second  fill ; 

But  not  to  those  whom  ive  love, 
Lest  we  love  those  who  love  not  us  ! 

A  third  :  —  'To  thee  and  me,  love! ' 


TO   HUGH   PARKER. 

[Written  from  Ellisland  to  his  friend 
Mr.  Hugh  Parker  of  Kilmarnock.  Pub- 
Ushed  by  Cunningham  in  1834.] 

In   this   strange   land,   this   uncouth 

clime, 
A  land  unknown  to  prose  or  rhyme  ; 
Where  words  ne"er  cros't  the  Muse's 

heckles. 
Nor  limpit  in  poetic  shackles  : 
A  land  that  Prose  did  never  view  it, 
Except  W'hen  drunk  he  stacher't  thro' 

it: 
Here,  ambush'd  by  the  chimla  cheek, 
Hid  in  an  atmosphere  of  reek, 
I  hear  a  wheel  thrum  i'  the  neuk, 
I  hear  it  —  for  in  vain  I  leuk  : 
The  red  peat  gleams,  a  fiery  kernel 
Enhusked  by  a  fog  infernal. 
Here,  for  my  wonted   rhyming   rap- 
tures, 
I  sit  and  count  my  sins  by  chapters  ; 
For  life  and  spunk  like  ither  Chris- 
tians, 
I  'm  dwindled  down   to   mere   exist- 
ence ; 
Wi'  na  converse  but  Gallowa'  bodies, 
\Vi'  nae  kend  face  but  Jenny  Geddes. 
Jenny,  my  Pegasean  pride, 
Dowie  she  saunters  down  Nithside, 
And  ay  a  westlin  leuk  she  throws. 
While  tears  hap  o'er  her  auld  brown 
nose ! 


Was  it  for  this  wi'  cannie  care 
Thou  bure  the  Bard  through  many  a 

shire? 
At  howcs  or  hillocks  never  stumbled, 
And  late  or  early  never  grumbled? 
O,  had  I  power  like  inclination, 
I  'd  heeze  thee  up  a  constellation! 
To  canter  with  the  Sagitarre, 
Or  loup  the  Ecliptic  like  a  bar, 
Or  turn  the  Pole  like  any  arrow ; 
Or,  when  auld  Phoebus  bids   good- 
morrow, 
Down  the  Zodiac  urge  the  race. 
And  cast  dirt  on  his  godship's  face : 
For  I  could  lay  my  bread  and  kail 
He'd  ne'er  cast  saut  upo'  thy  tail! 
Wi'  a'  this  care  and  a'  this  grief, 
And  sma',  sma'  prospect  of  relief. 
And  nought  but  peat  reek  i'  my  head, 
How  can  I  write  what  ye  can  read?  — 
Tarbolton,  twenty-fourth  o'  June, 
Ye  11  find  me  in  a  better  tune ; 
But  till  we  meet  and  weet  our  w^histle, 
Tak  this  excuse  for  nae  epistle. 

Robert  Burns. 


TO   ALEX.    CUNNINGHAM. 

Ellisland  in  Nithsdale, 
July  2jt/i,  1788. 

[Burns  and  Cunningham  were  on  the 
friendliest  terms  until  the  poet's  death.  It 
was  Cunningham  who  originated  both  the 
subscription  on  behalf  of  Mrs.  Burns  and 
the  scheme  for  a  collected  edition,  and  to 
him  the  success  of  both  enterprises  is  chiefly 
due.] 

I. 

My    godlike    friend  — nay,    do    not 
stare : 

You  think  the  praise  is  odd-like? 
But  '  God  is  Love,'  the  saints  declare  ; 

Then  surely  thou  art  god-like  ! 


II. 
And  is  thy  ardour  still  the  same. 

And  kindled  still  in  Anna? 
Others  may  boast  a  partial  flame. 

But  thou  art  a  volcano! 


154 


TO    ROBERT   GRAHAM,   ESQ.,   OF   FINTRY. 


III. 


Even  Wedlock  asks  not  love  beyond 
Death^s  tie-dissolving  portal ; 

But  thou,  omnipotently  fond, 
May'st  promise  love  immortal! 


rv. 

Thy   wounds    such    healing    powers 
defy, 

Such  symptoms  dire  attend  them, 
That  last  great  antihectic  try  — 

Marriage  perhaps  may  mend  them. 

V. 

Sweet  Anna  has  an  air  —  a  grace, 
Divine,  magnetic,  touching  ! 

She  takes,  she  charms  —  but  who  can 
trace 
The  process  of  bewitching? 


TO    ROBERT    GRAHAM,    ESQ., 
OF   FINTRY, 

REQUESTING   A   FAVOUR. 

[Robert  Graham  of  Fintry  was  one  of 
the  Commissioners  of  Excise.  The  "  Epis- 
tle "  was  the  poet's  earliest  attempt  in  the 
manner  of  Pope.] 

"When  Nature  her  great  master-piece 

designed, 
And  fram'd  her  last,  best  work,  the 

human  mind, 
Her  eye  intent  on  all  the  wondrous 

plan, 
She  formed  of  various  stuff  the  various 

Man. 

The  useful  many  first,  she  calls  them 

forth  — 
Plain   plodding   Industry  and   sober 

Worth  : 
Thence  peasants,  farmers,  native  sons 

of  earth. 
And  merchandise'  whole  genus  take 

their  birth ; 


Each  prudent  cit  a  warm    existence 

finds, 
And    all    mechanics'    many-apron'd 

kinds. 
Some   other   rarer   sorts   are  wanted 

yet  — 
The  lead  and  buoy  are  needful  to  the 

net : 
The  caput  niorhiuni  of  gross  desires 
Makes  a  material  for    mere  knights 

and  squires ; 
The  martial  phosphorus  is  taught  to 

flow ; 
She  kneads  the  lumpish  philosophic 

dough. 
Then  marks  th'  unyielding  mass  with 

grave  designs  — 
Law,  physic,  politics,  and   deep  di- 
vines ; 
Last,  she  sublimes  th'  Aurora  of  the 

poles. 
The  flashing  elements  of  female  souls. 

The  order'd  system  fair  before  her 
stood ; 

Nature,  well  pleas'd,  pronounc'd  it 
very  good ; 

Y'et  ere  she  gave  creating  labour  o'er. 

Half-jest,  she  tried  one  curious  labour 
more. 

Some  spumy,  fiery,  igjiis  fatims  mat- 
ter, 

Such  as  the  slightest  breath  of  air 
might  scatter ; 

With  arch-alacrity  and  conscious  glee 

(Nature  may  have  her  whim  as  well 
as  we : 

Her  Hogarth-art,  perhaps  she  meant 
to  show  it). 

She  forms  the  thing,  and  christens  it 
—  a  Poet : 

Creature,  tho'  oft  the  prey  of  care  and 
sorrow, 

When  blest  to-day,  unmindful  of  to- 
morrow ; 

A  being  form'd  t'  amuse  his  graver 
friends  ; 

Admir'd  and  prais'd — and  there  the 
wages  ends  ; 

A  mortal  quite  unfit  for  Fortune's  strife 


TO   ROBERT  GRAHAM,    ESQ.,   OF   FINTRY. 


155 


Yet  oft  the  sport  of  all  the  ills  of  life  ; 
Prone  to  enjoy  each  pleasure  riches 

give, 
Yet  haply  wanting  wherewithal  to  live  ; 
Longing  to  wipe  each  tear,  to  heal 

each  groan. 
Yet  frequent  all  unheeded  in  his  own. 

But  honest  Nature  is  not  quite  a 

Turk : 
She  laugh'd  at  first,  then  felt  for  her 

poor  work. 
Viewing  the  propless  climber  of  man- 
kind, 
She   cast   about  a   standard  tree  to 

find ; 
In   pity    for   his   helpless    woodbine 

state, 
She   clasp'd   his   tendrils   round  the 

truly  great : 
A  title,  and  the  only  one  I  claim. 
To    lay    strong    hold    for    help    on 

bounteous  Graham. 

Pity   the    hapless    Muses'    tuneful 

train  ! 
Weak,  timid  landsmen  on  life's  stormy 

main, 
Their  hearts  no  selfish,  stern,  absor- 
bent stuff, 
That  never  gives  —  tho'  humbly  takes 

—  enough  : 
The  little  Fate  allows,  they  share  as 

soon. 
Unlike    sage,    proverb'd    Wisdom's 

hard-wrung  boon. 
The   world   were  blest  did   bliss  on 

them  depend  — 
Ah,    that   '  the    frierrdly   e'er  should 

want  a  friend  ! ' 
Let     Prudence     number    o'er    each 

sturdy  son 
Who   life   and   wisdom   at  one   race 

begun. 
Who    feel  by  reason,  and  who  give 

by  rule 
(Instinct's  a  brute,  and  Sentiment  a 

fool !), 
Who  make  poor  ^will  do'  wait  upon 

•  I  should'  — 


We   own  they  're  prudent,   but  who 

owns  they  're  good  ? 
Ye   wise   ones,    hence!    ye   hurt   the 

social  eye, 
God's  image  rudely   etch'd    on  base 

alloy ! 
But  come  ye  who  the  godlike  pleasure 

know. 
Heaven's  attribute  distinguish'd  —  to 

bestow ! 
Whose  arml5  of  love  would  grasp  all 

human  race : 
Come    thou   who    giv'st   with    all   a 

courtier's  grace  — 
Friend  of  my  life,  true  patron  of  my 

rhymes, 
Prop  of  my  dearest  hopes  for  future 

times ! 


Why  shrinks  my  soul,  half  blush- 
ing, half  afraid, 

Backward,  abash'd  to  ask  thy  friendly 
aid? 

I  know  my  need,  I  know  thy  giving 
hand, 

I  tax  thy  friendship  at  thy  kind  com- 
mand. 

But  there  are  such  who  court  the 
tuneful  Nina 

(Heavens!  should  the  branded  char- 
acter be  mine  !), 

Whose  verse  in  manhood's  pride  sub- 
limely flows. 

Yet  vilest  reptiles  in  their  begging 
prose. 

Mark,  how  their  lofty  independent 
spirit 

Soars  on  the  spurning  wing  of  injur'd 
merit  ! 

Seek  vou  the  proofs  in  private  life  to 
find? 

Pity  the  best  of  words  should  be  but 
wind ! 

So  to  Heaven's  gates  the  lark's  shrill 
song  ascends, 

But  grovelling  on  the  earth  the  carol 
ends. 

In  all  the  clam'rous  cry  of  starving 
want, 


156      IMPROMPTU   TO   CAPTAIN   RIDDELL.  — TO  JAMES  TENNANT. 


They  dun  Benevolence  with  shame- 
less front ; 

Oblige  them,  patronise  their  tinsel 
lays  — 

They  persecute  you  all  your  future 
days ! 

Ere  my  poor  soul  such  deep  dam- 
nation stain, 
My   horny   fist    assume    the  plough 

again  ! 
The  pie-bald  jacket  let  me  patch  once 

more  ! 
On  eighteenpence  a  week  I  've  livM 

before. 
Tho',  thanks  to  Heaven,  I  dare  even 

that  last  shift, 
I  trust,  meantime,  my  boon  is  in  thy 

gift: 
That,  plac'd  by  thee  upon  the  wish'd- 

for  height. 
With  man  and  nature  fairer  in  her 

sight. 
My   Muse    may   imp    her    wing   for 

some  sublimer  flight. 


IMPROMPTU   TO  CAPTAIN 
RIDDELL, 

ON   RETURNING  A   NEWSPAPER. 

[Burns's  near  neighbor  at  Friars  Carse, 
who  showed  him  great  courtesy,  and  gave 
him  a  key  to  his  private  grounds  and 
the  Hermitage  on  Nithside.  The  news- 
paper contained  some  strictures  on  Burns's 
poetry.] 

Ellisland,  Monday  Evening. 

I. 

Your  News  and  Review,  Sir, 
I  Ve   read   through    and    through. 
Sir, 
With  little  admiring  or  blaming : 
The  Papers  are  barren 
Of  home-news  or  foreign  — 
No  murders  or  rapes  worth  the  nam- 
ing. 


II. 

Our  friends,  the  Reviewers, 

Those  chippers  and  hewers. 
Are  judges  of  mortar  and  stone,  Sir ; 

But  of  meet  or  unmeet 

In  a  fabric  complete 
I  '11  boldly  pronounce  they  are  none, 
Sir. 

III. 

My  goose-quill  too  rude  is 

To  tell  all  your  goodness 
Bestow'd  on  your  servant,  the  Poet ; 

Would  to  God  I  had  one 

Like  a  beam  of  the  sun. 
And  then  all  the  world,  Sir,  should 
know  it  ! 


REPLY   TO   A   NOTE   FROM 
CAPTAIN   RIDDELL. 

[This  trifle  was  written  on  the  back  of  a 
rhyming  note  from  Glenriddell  himself.] 

Ellisland. 

Dear  Sir,  at  onie  time  or  tide 
I  'd  rather  sit  wi'  you  than  ride, 

Tho'  't  were  wi'  royal  Geordie : 
And  trowth !  your  kindness  soon  and 

late 
Aft  gars  me  to  mysel  look  blate  — 

The  Lord  in  Heaven  reward  ye! 

R.  Burns. 


TO   JAMES   TENNANT  OF 
GLENCONNER. 

[Mr.  James  Tennant  of  Glenconner  was 
an  old  friend  of  the  Poet,  and  was  consulted 
by  him  respecting  the  taking  of  the  farm  of 
Ellisland,] 

AuLD  comrade  dear  and  brither 
sinner. 

How's  a'  the  folk  about  Glencon- 
ner ? 


TO  JOHN  M'MURDO. 


157 


How  do  you  this  blae  eastlin  wind, 
That's  Hke  to  blaw  a  body  blind  ? 
For  me,  my  faculties  are  frozen, 
My  dearest  member  nearly  dozened. 
I  've  sent  you  here,  by  Johnie  Sim- 
son, 
Twa  sage   philosophers   to    glimpse 

on  : 
Smith  wi'  his  sympathetic  feeling, 
An'  Reid  to  common  sense  appeal- 
ing. 
Philosophers  have  fought  and  wran- 
gled, 
An'  meikle  Greek  an'  Latin  mangled, 
Till,  wi'  their  logic-jargon  tir'd 
And  in  the  depth  of  science  mir'd, 
To  common  sense  they  now  appeal  — 
What   wives   and   wabsters   see  and 

feel! 
But,   hark  ye,  friend  !  I   charge   you 

strictly. 
Peruse  them,  an'  return  them  quickly  : 
For  now  I  'm  grown  sae  cursed  douse 
I  pray  and  ponder  butt  the  house ; 
My  shins  my  lane  I  there  sit  roastin, 
Perusing  Bunyan,  Bro\vn,  an'  Boston  ; 
Till  by  an'  by,  if  I  hand  on, 
I  "11  grunt  a  real  gospel  groan. 
Already  I  begin  to  try  it, 
To  cast  my  een  up  like  a  pyet, 
When  by  the  gim  she  tumbles  o'er, 
Flutt'ring  an'  gasping  in  her  gore  : 
Sae  shortly  you  shall  see  me  bright, 
A  burning  an'  a  shining  light. 

My  heart-warm  love  to  guid  auld 

Glen, 
The  ace  an'  wale  of  honest  men : 
When  bending  down   wi'  auld  grey 

hairs 
Beneath  the  load  of  years  and  cares. 
May  He  who  made  him  still  support 

him, 
An'  views  beyond  the  grave  comfort 

him  ! 
His  worthy  fam'ly  far  and  near, 
God  bless  them  a'  wi'  grace  and  gear  ! 

My     auld    schoolfellow,    preacher 
Willie, 


The  manly  tar,  my  Mason-billie, 
And  Auchenbay,  I  wish  him  joy  ; 
If  he  "s  a  parent,  lass  or  boy, 
May  he  be  dad  and  Meg  the  mither 
Just  five-and-forty  years  thegither  ! 
And  no  forgetting  wabster  Charlie, 
I  'm  tauld  he  offers  very  fairly 
An',  Lord,  remember  singing  Sannock 
Wi'  hale  breeks,  saxpence,  an'  a  ban- 
nock ! 
And     next    my    auld    acquaintance, 

Nancy, 
Since  she  is  fitted  to  her  fancy. 
An'  her  kind  stars  hae  airted  till  her 
A  guid  chiel  wi'  a  pickle  siller  ! 
My  kindest,  best  respects,  I  sen'  it, 
To  cousin  Kate,  an'  sister  Janet : 
Tell    them,   frae    me,    wi'   chiels    be 

cautious. 
For,  faith!    they'll  aiblins  fin'  them 

fashions  ; 
To  grant  a  heart  is  fairly  civil, 
But  to   grant    a    maidenhead's    the 

devil ! 
An'  lastly,  Jamie,  for  yoursel, 
May  guardian  angels  tak  a  spell, 
An'   steer  you  seven  miles  south   o' 

Hell ! 
But   first,   before   you   see    Heaven's 

glory. 
May  ye  get  monie  a  merry  story, 
Monie  a  laugh  and  monie  a  drink, 
And  ay  eneugh  o'  needfu'  clink  ! 

Now  fare  ye  weel,  an' joy  be  wi'  you  ! 
For  my  sake,  this  I  beg  it  o'  you  : 
Assist  poor  Simson  a'  ye  can  ; 
Ye '11  fin"  him  just  an  honest  man. 
Sae  I  conclude,  and  quat  my  chanter. 
Yours,  saint  or  sinner, 

Rab  the  Ranter. 


TO   JOHN   M'MURDO. 

WITH  SOME  OF  THE  AUTHOR'S  POEMS. 

[The  note  was  probably  sent  after  a  letter 
of  the  po«^t  in  which  he  says  he  is  indebted 


158     SONNET  TO  ROBERT  OR AHAM.  —  EPISTLE  TO  DR.  BLACKLOCK 


to  M'Murdo  for  a  chap  containing  "Five 
Excellent  Songs."] 

I. 

O,  COULD  I  give  thee  India's  wealth, 

As  I  this  trifle  send  ! 
Because  thy  Joy  in  both  would  be 

To  share  them  with  a  friend ! 


II. 

But  golden  sands  did  never  grace 

The  Heliconian  stream ; 
Then  take   what  gold    could    never 
buy  — 

An  honest  Bard's  esteem. 


SONNET    TO     ROBERT     GRA- 
HAM,  ESQ.    OF   FINTRY, 

ON   RECEIVING  A   FAVOUR,    I9TH 
AUGUST,    1789. 

[The  favor  vi^as  the  appointment  to  an 
excise  district  on  which  the  writer's  farm  was 
situated.] 

I  CALL  no  Goddess  to  inspire  my 
strains : 

A  fabled  Muse  may  suit  a  Bard  that 
feigns. 

Friend  of  my  life  !  my  ardent  spirit 
burns, 

And  all  the  tribute  of  my  heart  re- 
turns, 

For  boons  accorded,  goodness  ever 
new, 

The  gift  still  dearer,  as  the  giver  you. 

Thou  orb  of  day  !  thou  other  paler 

light ! 
And  all  ye  many  sparkling  stars  of 

night ! 
If  aught  that  giver  from   my  mind 

efface, 
If  I  that  giver's  bounty  e'er  disgrace. 
Then  roll  to  me  along  your  wand'ring 

spheres 
Only  to  number  out  a  villain's  years  ! 


I  lay  my  hand  upon  my  swelling 
breast, 
And  grateful  would,  but  cannot,  speak 
the  rest. 


EPISTLE  TO  DR.  BLACKLOCK. 

[Thomas  Blacklock,  ablind  poet,  protege 
of  David  Hume.  It  was  owing  to  Blacklock 
that  Burns  resolved  upon  an  Edinburgh 
edition.] 

Ellisland,  2isi  Oct.,  1789. 


Wow,    but    your    letter    made    me 

vauntie  ! 
And    are    ye    hale,    and    weel,   and 

cantie? 
I  kend  it  still,  your  wee  bit  jauntie 

Wad  bring  ye  to  : 
Lord  send  you  ay  as  weel 's  I  want  ye, 
And  then  ye  '11  do  ! 

II. 

The  Ill-Thief  blaw  the  Heron  south, 
And  never  drink  be  near  his  drouth  ! 
He  tauld  mysel  by  word  o'  mouth, 

He  'd  tak  my  letter : 
I  lippen'd  to  the  chiel  in  trowth. 

And  bade  nae  better. 


III. 

But  aiblins  honest  Master  Heron 
Had  at  the  time  some  dainty  fair  one 
To  ware  his  theologic  care  on 

And  holy  study. 
And,  tired  o'  sauls  to  waste  his  lear  on. 

E'en  tried  the  body. 


IV. 

But  what  d'  ye  think,  my  tmsty  fier? 
I  'm  turned  a  ganger —  Peace  be  here! 
Parnassian  queires,  I  fear,  I  fear, 

Ye  '11  now  disdain  me. 
And  then  my  fifty  pounds  a  year 

Will  little  gain  me! 


TO  A  GENTLEMAN. 


159 


Ye  glaikit  gleesome,  dainty  damies, 
Wha  by  Castalia's  wimplin  streamies 
Lowp,   sing,   and    lave    your    pretty 
limbies. 

Ye  ken,  ye  ken, 
That  Strang  necessity  supreme  is 

'Mang  sons  o^  men. 

VI. 

I  hae  a  wife  and  twa  wee  laddies  ; 
They  maun  hae  brose   and   brats  o' 

duddies  : 
Ye  ken  yoursels  my  heart  right  proud 
is  — 

I  need  na  vaunt  — 
But   I  '11  sned   besoms,  thraw  saugh 
woodies, 

Before  they  want. 

VII. 

Lord  help  me  thro'  this  warld  o'  care! 
I  'm  weary  —  sick  o  't  late  and  air! 
Not  but  I  hae  a  richer  share 

Than  monie  ithers ; 
But  why  should  ae  man  better  fare, 

And  a'  men  brithers  ? 

VIII. 

Come,  firm  Resolve,  take  thou  the  van, 
Thou  stalk  o'  carl-hemp  in  man! 
And  let  us  mind,  faint  heart  ne'er  wan 

A  lady  fair : 
Wha  does  the  utmost  that  he  can 

Will  whyles  do  mair. 

IX. 

But  to  conclude  my  silly  rhyme 

(I  'm  scant  o'  verse  and  scant  o'  time)  : 

To  make  a  happy  fireside  clime 

To  weans  and  wife, 
That 's  the  true  pathos  and  sublime 

Of  human  life. 

X. 

My  compliments  to  sister  Beckie, 
And  eke  the  same  to  honest  Lucky : 


I  wat  she  is  a  daintie  chuckle 
As  e'er  tread  clay  : 

And  gratefully,  my  guid  auld  cockle, 
I  'm  yours  for  ay. 

Robert  Burns. 


TO   A   GENTLEMAN 

WHO  HAD  SENT  A  NEWSPAPER,  AND 
OFFERED  TO  CONTINUE  IT  FREE 
OF   EXPENSE. 

[Probably  Peter  Stuart  of  the   London 
"  Star."    The  lines  were  published  in  Cur- 

rie,  1800,] 

Kind    Sir,    I  've    read    your    paper 

through, 
And  faith,  to  me  't  was  really  new! 
How  guessed  ye.  Sir,  what  maist  I 

wanted  ? 
This   monie  a  day  I  've  grain'd  and 

gaunted, 
To  ken  what   French   mischief  was 

brewin  ; 
Or  what  the  drumlie  Dutch  were  doin ; 
That  vile  doup-skelper.  Emperor  Jo- 
seph, 
If  Venus  yet  had  got  his  nose  off; 
Or  how  the  collieshangie  works 
Atween  the  Russians  and  the  Turks ; 
Or  if  the  Swede,  before  he  halt, 
Would  play  anither  Charles  the  Twalt; 
If  Denmark,  any  body  spak  o  't ; 
Or  Poland,  wha  had  now  the  tack  o  't ; 
How  cut-throat  Prussian  blades  were 

hingin ; 
How  libbet  Italy  was  singing ; 
If  Spaniard,  Portuguese,  or  Swiss 
Were  sayin  or  takin  aught  amiss  ; 
Or  how  our  merry  lads  at  hame 
In  Britain's  court  kept  up  the  game  : 
How  royal  George  —  the  Lord  leuk 

o'er  him  !  — 
Was  managing  St.  Stephen's  quorum  ; 
If  sleekit  Chatham  Will  was  livin, 
Or  glaikit  Charlie  got  his  nieve  in  : 
How    Daddie    Burke    the    plea   was 

cookin ; 
If  Warren  Hastings'  neck  was  yeukin  ; 


i6o 


TO   PETER   STUART.— TO  JOHN   MAXWELL,   ESQ. 


How   cesses,   stents,   and   fees    were 

rax'd, 
Or  if  bare  arses  yet  were  tax'd  ; 
The  news  o^  princes,  dukes,  and  earls, 
Pimps,  sharpers,  bawds,  and   opera- 

It  that  daft  buckle,  Geordie  Wales, 
Was  threshin  still  at  hizzies'  tails ; 
Or  if  he  was  grown  oughtlins  douser, 
And  no  a  perfect  kintra  cooser : 
A''  this  and  mair  I  never  heard  of, 
And,  but  for  you,  I  might  despaired  of. 
So,  gratefu',  back  your  news  I  send 

you. 
And  pray  a'  guid  things  may  attend 

you! 

Ellisland,  Monday  Morning, 


TO   PETER   STUART. 

[The  post-office  authorities  were  evi- 
dently remiss  in  their  duties,  and  the  poet 
missed  his  paper.] 

Dear  Peter,  dear  Peter, 

We  poor  sons  of  metre 
Are  often  negleckit,  ye  ken : 

For  instance  your  sheet,  man 

(Tho'  glad  I  'm  to  see  't,  man), 
I  get  it  no  ae  day  in  ten. 


TO    JOHN     MAXWELL,     ESQ., 
OF   TERRAUGHTIE, 

ON    HIS   BIRTH-DAY. 

[John    Maxwell,    Esq.,  of  Terraughty 
and  Munches.     He  died  in  1814,  aged  94.J 

I. 

Health  to    the    Maxwells'  vetVan 

Chief ! 
Health  ay  unsour'd  by  care  or  grief ! 
Inspired,  I  turn'd  Fate's  sibyl  leaf 
This  natal  morn  : 


I  see  thy  life  is  stuff  o'  prief, 

Scarce  quite  half- worn. 


n. 

This    day    thou    metes    threescore 

eleven. 
And  I  can  tell  that  bounteous  Heaven 
(The  second  sight,  ye  ken,  is  given 

To  ilka  Poet) 
On  thee  a  tack  o'  seven  times  seven, 

Will  yet  bestow  it. 


m. 

If  envious  buckles  view  wi'  sorrow 
Thy   lengthened   days   on    thy   blest 

morrow. 
May    Desolation's   lang-teeth'd   har- 
row, 

Nine  miles  an'  hour. 
Rake    them,   like    Sodom    and   Go- 
morrah, 

In  brunstane  stoure ! 


IV. 

But  for  thy  friends,   and    they   are 

monie, 
Baith  honest  men  and  lasses  bonie. 
May  couthie  Fortune,  kind  and  can- 
nie 

In  social  glee, 
Wi'   mornings    blythe   and   e'enings 
funny 

Bless  them  and  thee  ! 


V. 

Fareweel,  auld  birkie !    Lord  be  near 

ye. 

And  then  the  Deil,  he  daurna  steer 

ye! 
Your  friends  ay  love,  your  foes   ay 
fear  ye  ! 

For  me,  shame  fa'  me. 
If  neist  my  heart  I  dinna  wear  ye. 

While  Burns  they  ca'  me  ! 


TO   WILLIAM  STEWART.— TO   COLLECTOR   MITCHELL. 


r6i 


TO  WILLIAM   STEWART. 

["  Honest  Bacon  "  was  landlord  of  the 
inn  at  Brownhill,  and  a  relative  of  Stewart, 
who  wafi  factor  at  Closeburn,  hard  by.] 

In  honest  Bacon's  ingle-neuk 

Here  maun  I  sit  and  think, 
Sick  o'  the  warld  and  warld's  folk, 

An'  sick,  damn'd  sick,  o'  drink ! 
I  see,  I  see  there  is  nae  help, 

But  still  doun  I  maun  sink, 
Till  some  day  laigh  enough  I  yelp  :  — 

*  Wae  worth  that  cursed  drink  ! ' 
Yestreen,  alas  !  I  was  sae  fu' 

I  could  but  yisk  and  wink ; 
And  now,  this  day,  sair,  sair  I  rue 

The  weary,  weary  drink. 
Satan,  I  fear  thy  sooty  claws, 

I  hate  thy  brunstane  stink, 
And  ay  I  curse  the  luckless  cause  — 

The  wicked  soup  o'  drink. 
In  vain  I  would  forget  my  woes 

In  idle  rhyming  clink, 
For,    past     redemption     damn'd     in 
prose, 

I  can  do  nought  but  drink. 
To  you  my  trusty,  well-tried  friend, 

May  heaven  still  on  you  blink  ! 
And  may  your  life  flow  to  the  end, 

Sweet  as  a  dry  man's  drink  ! 


INSCRIPTION    TO    MISS   GRA- 
HAM  OF   FINTRY. 

[Daughter  of  Burns's  patron  in  the  de- 
partment of  the  Customs.  Published  by 
Currie,  1800.] 

I. 

Here,  where  the  Scottish  Muse  im- 
mortal lives 
In  sacred  strains  and  tuneful  num- 
bers join'd. 
Accept  the  gift !     Though  humble  he 
who  gives. 
Rich  is  the  tribute  of  the  grateful 
mind. 

M 


II. 


So   may    no    ruffian    feeling    in    thy 
breast. 
Discordant,  jar   thy  bosom-chords 


among  ! 

But  peace  attune  thy  gentle  soul  to     ^ 
rest, 
Or  Love  ecstatic  wake  his  seraph- 
song  ! 

III. 

Or  Pity's  notes  in  luxury  of  tears. 
As    modest  Want  the  tale  of  woe 
reveals ; 
While  conscious  Virtue  all  the  strain 
endears. 
And  heaven-born  Piety  her  sanc- 
tion seals  ! 

Robert  Burns. 

Dumfries,  31^/  January,  1794. 


REMORSEFUL   APOLOGY. 

[Probably   Mrs.  Walter   Riddell   is   the 
lady  addressed.] 


The   friend  whom,  wild   from  Wis- 
dom's way. 
The  fumes  of  wine  infuriate  send 
(Not  moony  madness  more  astray). 
Who    but    deplores    that    hapless 
friend  ? 

II. 

Mine  was  th'  insensate,  frenzied  part  — 
Ah  !    why   should    I    such   scenes 
outlive? 

Scenes  so  abhorrent  to  my  heart  ! 
'T  is  thine  to  pity  and  forgive. 


TO     COLLECTOR      MITCHELL. 

[Burns  was  on  very  friendly  terms  with 
Mitchell,  and  often  sent  him  first  drafts  for 
criticism.] 


Friend  of  the  Poet,  tried  and  leal, 
Wha   wanting   thee    might    beg    or 
steal ; 


1 62 


TO   COLONEL  DE   PEYSTER. 


Alake,  alake,  the  meikle  Deil 
Wi'  a'  his  witches 

Are  at  it,  skelpin  jig  an'  reel 

In  my  poor  pouches  ! 

II. 

*     I  modestly  fu'  fain  wad  hint  it, 

That  One-pound-one,  I  sairly  want  it ; 
It  wi'  the  hizzie  down  ye  sent  it, 

It  wad  be  kind  ; 
And   while    my   heart   wi'   life-blood 
dunted, 

^  'd  bear  H  in  mind  ! 

III. 
So  may  the  old  year  gang  out  moanin 
To  see  the  New  come  laden,  groanin 
Wi'  double  plenty  o'er  the  loanin 

To  thee  and  thine  : 
Domestic  peace  and  comforts  crownin 

The  hale  design  ! 

Postscript. 

IV. 

Ye  Ve  heard  this  while  how  I  've  been 

licket, 
And  by  fell  Death  was  nearly  nicket : 
Grim    loon !       He    got    me   by   the 
fecket. 

And  sair  me  sheuk  ; 
But  by  guid  luck  I  lap  a  wicket, 
And  turned  a  neuk. 


But  by  that  health,  I  Ve  got  a  share 

o  't, 
And  by  that  life,  I  'm  promised  mair 

0% 

My  hale  and  w^el,  I  '11  tak  a  care  o  't, 

A  tentier  way ; 
Then  farewell  Folly,  hide  and  hair  o  't. 

For  ance  and  ay  ! 


TO     COLONEL    DE    PEYSTER. 

[Colonel  Arentz  Schuyler  de  Peysterwas 
descended  from  a  Huguenot  family  settled 


in  America,  and  served  with  distinction  in 
the  American  war.  He  was  colonel  of  the 
Dumfries  Volunteers.] 

I. 

My  honor'd  Colonel,  deep  I  feel 
Your  interest  in  the  Poefs  weal : 
Ah  !  now  sma'  heart  hae  I  to  speel 

The  steep  Parnassus, 
Surrounded  thus  by  bolus  pill 

And  potion  glasses. 

II. 

O,  what  a  canty  world  were  it, 
Would   pain   and  care  and  sickness 

spare  it, 
And  Fortune  favor  worth  and  merit 

As  they  deserve, 
And    ay   a    rowth  —  roast-beef    and 
claret  !  — 

Syne,  wha  wad  starve  ? 

III. 

Dame  Life,  tho'  fiction  out  may  trick 

her. 
And  in  paste  gems  and  frippery  deck 

her. 
Oh  !  flickering,  feeble,  and  unsicker 

I  've  found  her  still : 
Ay  wavering,  like  the  willow-wicker, 
'T  ween  good  and  ill ! 

IV. 

Then    that   curst   carmagnole,   Auld 

Satan, 
Watches,  like  baudrons  by  a  ratton. 
Our  sinfu'  saul  to  get  a  claut  on 

Wi'  felon  ire ; 
Syne,  whip  !  his  tail  ye  '11  ne'er  cast 
saut  on  — 

He  's  aff  like  fire. 


V. 

Ah  Nick  !  Ah  Nick  !  it  is  na  fair. 
First  showing  us  the  tempting  ware. 
Bright  wines  and  bonie  lasses  rare. 
To  put  us  daft ; 


TO   MISS   JESSIE   LEWARS.  —  INSCRIPTION. 


163 


Syne  weave,  unseen,  thy  spider  snare 
O'  Helps  damned  waft  ! 

VI. 

Poor  Man,  the  flie,  aft  bizzes  by, 
And  aft,  as  chance   he  comes   thee 

nigh. 
Thy   damn'd   auld   elbow   yeuks   wi' 
joy 

And  hellish  pleasure, 
Already  in  thy  fancy's  eye 

Thy  sicker  treasure  ! 

VII. 

Soon,  heels  o'er  gowdie,  in  he  gangs, 
And,  like  a  sheep-head  on  a  tangs. 
Thy  girnin  laugh  enjoys  his  pangs 

And  murdering  wrestle, 
As,  dangling  in  the  wind,  he  hangs 

A  gibbefs  tassle. 

VIII. 

But  lest  you  think  I  am  uncivil 

To   plague  you  with   this  draunting 

drivel, 
Abjuring  a'  intentions  evil, 

I  quat  my  pen  : 
The  Lord  preserve  us  frae  the  Devil 

Amen!  Amen! 


TO   MISS  JESSIE   LEWARS. 

[On  a  copy  of  the  "Scots  Musical  Mu- 
seum," in  four  volumes,  presented  to  her 
by  Burns,] 

Thine  be  the  volumes,  Jessie  fair, 
And    with    them     take    the     Poefs 

prayer : 
That  Fate  may  in  her  fairest  page, 
With  ev'ry  kindliest,  best  presage 
Of  future  bliss  enrol  thy  name  ; 
With     native    worth,    and     spotless 

fame. 
And  wakeful  caution,  still  aware 
Of  ill  —  but  chief  Man's  felon  snare! 
All  blameless  joys  on  earth  we  find, 


And  all  the  treasures  of  the  mind  — 
These  be  thy  guardian  and  reward  ! 
So  prays  thy  faithful  friend,  the  Bard. 

Robert  Burns. 
June  26th,  1796. 


INSCRIPTION 

WRITTEN  ON  THE  BLANK  LEAF  OF  A 
COPY  OF  THE  LAST  EDITION  OF  MY 
POEMS,  PRESENTED  TO  THE  LADY 
WHOM,  IN  SO  MANY  FICTITIOUS  REV- 
ERIES OF  PASSION,  BUT  WITH  THE 
MOST  ARDENT  SENTIMENTS  OF  REAL 
FRIENDSHIP,  I  HAVE  SO  OFTEN  SUNG 
UNDER  THE  NAME  OF  CHLORIS. 

[The  lady  was  Miss  Jean  Lorimer,  daugh- 
ter of  a  farmer  residing  a  little  distance  from 
Dumfries.] 

I. 

'T  IS  Friendship's  pledge,  my  young, 
fair  Friend, 

Nor  thou  the  gift  refuse  ; 
Nor  with  unwilling  ear  attend 

The  moralising  Muse. 


in 


II. 
all 


thy   youth    and 


Since    thou 
charms 
Must  bid  the  world  adieu 
(A  world   'gainst   peace  in  constant 
arms). 
To  join  the  friendly  few  ; 

III. 

Since,  thy  gay  morn  of  life  o'ercast. 
Chill  came  the  tempest's  lour 

(And  ne'er  Misfortune's  eastern  blast 
Did  nip  a  fairer  flower)  ; 

IV. 

Since  life''s  gay  scenes  must  charm  no 
more : 
Still  much  is  left  behind, 


164 


PROLOGUE   FOR  MR.   WOODS. 


Still  nobler  wealth  hast  thou  in  store — 
The  comforts  of  the  mind! 

V. 

Thine  is  the  self-approving  glow 
Of  conscious  honor's  part ; 

And  (dearest  gift  of  Heaven  below) 
Thine  Friendship's  truest  heart ; 


VI. 


The  joys  refin'd  of  sense  and  taste, 
With  every  Muse  to  rove : 

And  doubly  were  the  Poet  blest, 
These  joys  could  he  improve. 

Una  Bagatelle  de  PAmitie. 

COILA. 


THEATRICAL   PIECES. 


PROLOGUE 

SPOKEN  BY  MR.  WOODS  ON  HIS  BENE- 
FIT NIGHT,  MONDAY,  i6tH  APRIL, 
1787. 

[Burns's  interest  in  Woods  was  probably- 
quickened  by  the  player's  friendship  with 
Fergusson,  who  in  his  Last  Will  bequeaths 
him  his  Shakespeare.] 

When  by  a  generous  Public's  kind 
acclaim 

That  dearest  need  is  granted  — 
honest  fame ; 

When  here  your  favour  is  the  actor's 
lot, 

Nor  even  the  man  in  private  life  for- 
got; 

What  breast  so  dead  to  heavenly 
Virtue's  glow 

But  heaves  impassion'd  with  the 
grateful   throe  ? 

Poor  is  the  task  to  please  a  barb'rous 

throng: 
It    needs    no    Siddons's    powers   in 

Southern's  song. 
But   here   an   ancient   nation,    fam'd 

afar 
For  genius,  learning  high,  as  great  in 

war. 
Hail,  Caledonia,  name  for  ever  dear ! 
Before  whose  sons   I  "m   honor'd   to 

appear ! 


Where  every  science,  every  nobler 
art. 

That  can  inform  the  mind  or  mend 
the  heart. 

Is  known  (as  grateful  nations  oft 
have  found). 

Far  as  the  rude  barbarian  marks  the 
bound! 

Philosophy,  no  idle  pedant  dream, 

Here  holds  her  search  by  heaven- 
taught  Reason's  beam ; 

Here  History  paints  with  elegance 
and  force 

The  tide  of  Empire's  fluctuating 
course ; 

Here  Douglas  forms  wild  Shakspeare 
into  plan. 

And  Harley  rouses  all  the  God  in 
man. 

When  well-form'd  taste  and  sparkling 
wit  unite 

With  manly  lore,  or  female  beauty 
bright 

(Beauty,  where  faultless  symmetry 
and  grace 

Can  only  charm  us  in  the  second 
place). 

Witness  my  heart,  how  oft  with  pant- 
ing fear. 

As  on  this  night,  I  've  met  these 
judges  here  ! 

But  still  the  hope  Experience  taught 
to  live : 

Equal  to  judge,  you  're  candid  to  for- 
give. 


PROLOGUE   SPOKEN   AT  THE  THEATRE  OF  DUMFRIES. 


165 


No    hundred-headed    Riot    here   we 

meet, 
With  Decency  and  Law  beneath  his 

feet ; 
Nor  Insolence  assumes  fair  Freedom's 

name : 
Like    Caledonians    you    applaud    or 

blame  ! 

O  Thou,  dread  Power,  Whose  empire- 

siviny:  hand 
Has  oft  been  stretched  to  shield  the 

honored  land! 
Strong   may  she   glow  with  all   her 

ancient  fire ; 
May  every  son  be  worthy  of  his  sire  ; 
Firm  may  she  rise,  with  generous  dis- 
dain 
At    Tyranny's,    or    direr    Pleasure's 

chain ; 
Still    self-dependent    in    her    native 

shore, 
Bold  may  she  brave  grim  Danger's 

loudest  roar. 
Till  Fate  the  curtain  drop  on  worlds 

to  be  no  more  ! 


PROLOGUE    SPOKEN   AT   THE 
THEATRE   OF   DUMFRIES, 

ON   NEW  year's   day   EVENING,  I79O. 

[Of  this  Prologue  Burns  writes  to  "  Mr. 
George  Sutherland,  Player,  Dumfries." 
"The  enclosed  verses  are  very  incorrect 
.  .  .  but  if  they  can  be  of  any  service  to  Mr. 
Sutherland  and  his  friends  I  shall  kiss  my 
hands  to  my  Lady  Muse,  and  own  myself 
much  her  debtor."] 

No  song  nor  dance  I  bring  from  yon 

great  city 
That  queens  it  o'er  our  taste  —  the 

more  's  the  pity! 
Tho',  by  the  bye,  abroad  why  will  you 

roam  ? 
Good  sense  and  taste  are  natives  here 

at  home. 
But  not  for  panegyric  I  appear : 
I  come  to  wish  you  all  a  good  New 

Year! 


Old   Father   Time  deputes  me  here 

before  ye. 
Not  for  to  preach,  but  tell  his  simple 

story. 
The  sage,  grave  Ancient  cough'd,  and 

bade  me  say : 
'  You  're  one  year  older  this  important 

day.' 
If  wiser  too  —  he  hinted  some  sug- 
gestion, 
But  't  would  be  rude,  you  know,  to  ask 

the  question ; 
And  with  a  would-be-roguish  leer  and 

wink 
He  bade  me  on  you  press  this  one 

word  —  Think  I 

Ye    sprightly    youths,    quite    flush 

with  hope  and  spirit. 
Who  think  to  storm  the  world  by  dint 

of  merit. 
To  you  the  dotard  has  a  deal  to  say. 
In  his  sly,  dry,  sententious,  proverb 

way ! 
He  bids  you  mind,  amid  your  thought- 
less rattle, 
That  the  first  blow  is  ever  half  the 

battle ; 
That,  tho'  some  by  the  skirt  may  try 

to  snatch  him ; 
Yet  by  the  forelock  is  the  hold   to 

catch  him ; 
That,   whether    doing,   suffering,    or 

forbearing, 
You  may  do  miracles  by  persevering. 

Last,  tho'  not  least  in  love,  ye  youth- 
ful fair. 

Angelic  forms,  high  Heaven's  pecul- 
iar care  ! 

To  you  old  Bald-Pate  smoothes  his 
wrinkled  brow, 

And  humbly  begs  you  '11  mind  the 
important  —  Now  ! 

To  crown  your  happiness  he  asks  your 
leave, 

And  oifers  bliss  to  give  and  to  receive. 

For  our  sincere,  tho'  haply  weak 
endeavours, 


i66 


SCOTS  PROLOGUE   FOR   MRS.   SUTHERLAND. 


With  grateful  pride  we  own  your  many 

favours ; 
And   howsoever  our  tongues   may  ill 

reveal  it, 
Believe    our    glowing    bosoms   truly 

feel  it. 


SCOTS  PROLOGUE  FOR  MRS. 
SUTHERLAND, 

ON  HER  BENEFIT  NIGHT  AT  THE 
THEATRE,  DUMFRIES,  MARCH  3D, 
1790. 

[This  Prologue  has  been  hitherto  desig- 
nated as  for  Mr.  Sutherland,  but  that  it  was 
for  his  wife  is  proved,  first  by  an  unpub- 
lished letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  :  "  The  follow- 
ing is  a  Prologue  I  made  for  his  wife  ;  "  and 
second  by  a  humorous  letter  (unpublished) 
to  Provost  Staig,  Dumfries,  in  which  Burns 
states  that  Sutherland  had  asked  him  for 
a  Prologue  for  Mrs.  Sutherland's  benefit 
night.  —  Centenary  Edition.] 

What  needs  this  din  about  the  town 

o'  Lon'on, 
How  this  new  play  an'  that  new  song 

is  comin  ? 
Why  is  outlandish  stuff  sae  meikle 

courted  ? 
Does  Nonsense  mend  like  brandy — 

when  imported? 
Is  there  nae  poet,  burning  keen  for 

fame, 
Will  bauldly  try  to  gie  us  plays  at 

hame? 
For  Comedy  abroad  he  need  na  toil : 
A  knave  and  fool  are  plants  of  every 

soil. 
Nor  need  he  stray  as  far  as  Rome  or 

Greece 
To  gather  matter  for  a  serious  piece  : 
There  's  themes  enow  in  Caledonian 

story 
Would  show  the   tragic  Muse  in  a' 

her  glory. 

Is  there  no  daring  Bard  will  rise  and 
tell 


How  glorious   Wallace    stood,   how 

hapless  fell.'' 
Where  are  the  Muses  fled  that  could 

produce 
A  drama  worthy  o'  the  name  o'  Bruce  ? 
How   here,    even   here,   he   first   un- 
sheathed the  sword 
'Gainst    mighty    England    and    her 

guilty  lord, 
And  after  monie  a  bloody,  deathless 

doing. 
Wrenched  his  dear  country  from  the 

jaws  of  Ruin! 
O,  for  a  Shakespeare,  or  an  Otway 

scene 
To  paint  the  lovely,  hapless  Scottish 

Queen  ! 
Vain  all  th'  omnipotence  of  female 

charms 
'Gainst  headlong,  ruthless,  mad  Re- 
bellion's arms  ! 
She   fell,    but   fell   with    spirit    truly 

Roman, 
To   glut   the   vengeance   of   a   rival 

woman : 
A  woman  (tho'  the  phrase  may  seem 

uncivil) 
As    able  —  and    as    cruel  —  as    the 

Devil  ! 
One  Douglas  lives  in  Home's  immor- 
tal page. 
But   Douglasses   were    heroes   every 

ao"p  ■ 
And   tho'   your  fathers,   prodigal   of 

life, 
A   Douglas   followed   to   the  martial 

strife, 
Perhaps,  if  bowls  row  right,  and  Right 

succeeds. 
Ye  yet  may  follow  where  a  Douglas 

leads  ! 

As  ye  hae  generous  done,  if  a'  the 

land 
Would  take  the  Muses'  servants  by 

the  hand ; 
Not  only  hear,  but  patronize,  befriend 

them. 
And  where  ye  justly  can   commend, 

commend  them ; 


1  HE  RIGHTS   OP    WOMAN. 


167 


And  aiblins,  when  they  winna  stand 

the  test, 
Wink  hard,  and  say  :  '  The  folks  hae 

done  their  best ! ' 
Would  a'  the  land  do  this,  then  1 11 

be  caition 
Ye  '11  soon  hae  Poets  o'  the  Scottish 

nation 
Will  gar  Fame  blaw  until  her  trumpet 

crack. 
And  warsle  Time,  an'  lay  him  on  his 

back! 

For  us  and  for  our  stage,  should  onie 

spier ;  — 
*  Whase   aught  thae   chiels  maks   a' 

this  bustle  here?^ 
My  best  leg  foremost,  I  '11  set  up  my 

brow :  — 
*We  have  the   honor  to   belong  to 


you 


f  1 


We  're  your  ain  bairns,  e'en  guide  us 

as  ye  like. 
But  like  good  mithers,  shore  before 

ye  strike ; 
And   gratefu'  still  I  trust  ye  '11  ever 

find  us 
For  gen'rous  patronage  and   meikle 

kindness 
We  've  got  frae  a'  professions  setts  an' 

ranks : 
God  help  us  !  we  're  but  poor  —  ye  'se 

get  but  thanks! 


THE   RIGHTS   OF  WOMAN. 

A?i  Occasional  Address. 

SPOKEN  BY  MISS  FONTENELLE  ON 
HER  BENEFIT  NIGHT  NOVEMBER 
26,  1792. 

[Sent  to  Miss  Fontenelle  in  a  compli- 
mentary letter,  in  which  the  poet  writes : 
"  Your  charms  as  a  woman  would  secure  ap- 
plause to  the  most  indifferent  actress,  and 
your  theatrical  talents  would  secure  admira- 
tion to  the  plainest  figure."  She  played  in 
America  under  the  name  of  Mrs.  Wilkin- 


son, and  died  in  Charleston,  S.  C,  of  yellow 
fever,  September,  1800.] 

While  Europe's  eye  is  fix'd  on 
mighty  things, 

The  fate  of  empires  and  the  fall  of 
kings ; 

While  quacks  of  State  must  each  pro- 
duce his  plan. 

And  even  children  lisp  the  Rights  of 
Man; 

Amid  this  mighty  fuss  just  let  me 
mention, 

The  Rights  of  Woman  merit  some 
attention. 

First,  in  the  sexes'  intermix'd  connex- 
ion 

One  sacred  Right  of  Woman  is  Pro- 
tection : 

The  tender  flower,  that  lifts  its  head 
elate. 

Helpless  must  fall  before  the  blasts  of 
fate, 

Sunk  on  the  earth,  defac'd  its  lovely 
form, 

Unless  your  shelter  ward  th'  impend- 
ing storm. 

Our  second  Right  —  but  needless  here 

is  caution  — 
To   keep   that  right    inviolate 's   the 

fashion : 
Each  man  of  sense  has  it  so  full  before 

him, 
He  'd  die  before  he  "d  wrong  it  —  't  is 

Decorum  ! 
There  was,  indeed,  in  far  less  polish'd 

days, 
A  time,  when  rough  rude  Man  had 

naughty  ways  : 
Would   swagger,   swear,   get    drunk, 

kick  up  a  riot, 
Nay,  even  thus  invade  a  lady's  quiet  I 
Now,  thank  our  stars  !    these  Gothic 

times  are  fled ; 
Now.  well-bred  men  —  and  you  are  all 

well-bred  — 
Most  justly  think  (and  we  are  much 

the  gainers) 


i68 


ADDRESS   FOR   MISS   FONTENELLE. 


Such  conduct  neither  spirit,  wit,  nor 
manners. 

For  Right  the  third,  our  last,  our  best, 
our  dearest : 

That  right  to  fluttering  female  hearts 
the  nearest, 

Which  even  the  Rights  of  Kings,  in 
low  prostration. 

Most  humbly  own  —  'tis  dear,  dear 
Admiration ! 

In  that  blest  sphere  alone  we  live  and 
move ; 

There  taste  that  life  of  life  —  Immor- 
tal Love. 

Smiles,  glances,  sighs,  tears,  fits,  flirta- 
tions, airs  — 

'Gainst  such  an  host  what  flinty  sav- 
age dares? 

When  awful  Beauty  joins  with  all  her 
charms, 

Who  is  so  rash  as  rise  in  rebel  arms  ? 

But  truce  with  kings,  and  truce  with 
constitutions. 

With  bloody  armaments  and  revolu- 
tions ; 

Let  Majesty  your  first  attention  sum- 
mon : 

Ah  I  qa  ira  I  the  Majesty  of  Woman! 


ADDRESS 

SPOKEN  BY  MISS  FONTENELLE  ON 
HER  BENEFIT  NIGHT,  DECEMBER 
4TH,  1793,  AT  THE  THEATRE,  DUM- 
FRIES. 

Still  anxious  to  secure  your  partial 
favor, 

And  not  less  anxious,  sure,  this  night 
than  ever, 

A  Prologue,  Epilogue,  or  some  such 
matter, 

"T  would  vamp  my  bill,  said  I,  if  noth- 
ing better : 

So  sought  a  Poet  roosted  near  the 
skies  ; 

Told  him  I  came  to  feast  my  curious 
eyes; 


Said,  nothing  like  his  works  was  ever 

printed ; 
And  last,  my  prologue-business  slily 

hinted. 
'  Ma'am,  let  me  tell  you,'  quoth  my 

man  of  rhymes, 
'I    know   your  bent  —  these   are   no 

laughing  times : 
Can  you — but.  Miss,  I  own  I  have  my 

fears  — 
Dissolve   in   pause,  and   sentimental 

tears  ? 
With  laden  sighs  and  solemn-rounded 

sentence. 
Rouse  from  his  sluggish  slumbers,  fell 

Repentance? 
Paint   Vengeance,   as   he    takes    his 

horrid  stand, 
Waving  on  high  the  desolating  brand, 
Calling  the  storms  to  bear  him  o'er  a 

guilty  land?' 

I  could  no  more  !  Askance  the  crea- 
ture eyeing :  — 

'  D'  ye  think,'  said  I,  '■  this  face  was 
made  for  crying? 

I'll  laugh,  that's  poz  —  nay  more,  the 
world  shall  know  it ; 

And  so,  your  servant !  gloomy  Master 
Poet  ! ' 

Firm  as  my  creed.  Sirs,  't  is  my  fix'd 

belief 
That     Misery's     another    word    for 

Grief. 
I  also  think  (so  may  I  be  a  bride !) 
That,  so  much  laughter,  so  much  life 

enjoy'd. 

Thou  man  of  crazy  care  and  ceaseless 
sigh, 

Still  under  bleak  Misfortune's  blasting 
eye; 

Doom'd  to  that  sorest  task  of  man 
alive  — 

To  make  three  guineas  do  the  work  of 
five ; 

Laugh  in  Misfortune's  face  —  the  bel- 
dam witch  — 

Say  j-uu  '11  be  merry,  tho'  you  can't  be 
rich! 


ADDRESS   OF  BEELZEBUB. 


169 


Thou  other  man  of  care,  the  wretch 

in  love! 
Who  long  with  jiltish  arts  and  airs  hast 

strove  ; 
Who,  as  the  boughs  all  temptingly 

project, 
Measur'st  in   desperate   thought  —  a 

rope  —  thy  neck  — 
Or.  where  the  beetling  cliff  overhangs 

the  deep, 
Peerest     to     meditate    the    healing 

leap: 


Would'st  thou  be  cur'd,  thou  silly, 
moping  elf? 

Laugh  at  her  follies,  laugh  e'en  at  thy- 
self; 

Learn  to  despise  those  frowns  now  so 
terrific, 

And  love  a  kinder  :  that 's  your  grand 
specific. 

To  sum  up  all :  be  merry,  I  advise  ; 
And  as  we  're  merry,  may  we  still  be 
wise! 


POLITICAL   PIECES. 


ADDRESS   OF   BEELZEBUB 

To  the  Right  Honorable  the  Earl  of 
Breadalbane,  President  of  the  Right  Honor- 
able the  Highland  Society,  which  met  on  the 
23rd  of  May  last,  at  the  Shakespeare,  Covent 
Garden,  to  concert  ways  and  means  to  frus- 
trate the  designs  of  five  hundred  Highland- 
ers who,  as  the  Society  were  informed  by 
Mr.  M'Kenzie  of  Applecross,  were  so  auda- 
cious as  to  attempt  an  escape  from  their 
lawful  lords  and  masters  whose  property 
they  were,  by  emigrating  from  the  lands  of 
Mr.  Macdonald  of  Glengary  to  the  wilds  of 
Canada,  in  search  of  that  fantastic  thing  — 
Liberty. 

["  Highlanders  in  those  days  wanted  to 
emigrate,  the  chiefs  wanted  them  to  stay  at 
home.  The  parts  have  long  been  inverted." 
—  Andrew  Lang.] 

Long  life,  my  lord,  an'  health  be  yours, 
Unskaith'd    by    hunger'd    Highland 

boors! 
Lord  grant  nae  duddie,  desperate  beg- 
gar, 
Wi'  dirk,  claymore,  or  rusty  trigger. 
May  twin  auld  Scotland  o'  a  hfe 
She  likes  —  as  lambkins  like  a  knife  ! 

Faith  I  you  and  Applecross  were  right 
To  keep  the  Highland  hounds  in  sight! 
I  doubt  na!  they  wad  bid  nae  better 
Than  let  them  ance  out  owre  the  water ! 
Then  up  amang  thae  lakes  and  seas. 
They  "11  mak  what  rules  and  laws  they 
please : 


Some  daring  Hancock,  or  a  Franklin, 
May  set  their  Highland  bluid  a-ranklin ; 
Some  Washington   again   may  head 

them. 
Or  some  Montgomerie,  fearless,  lead 

them  : 
Till  (God  knows  what  may  be  effected 
When    by   such    heads    and    hearts 

directed) 
Poor  dunghill  sons  of  dirt  an'  mire 
May  to  Patrician  rights  aspire! 
Nae  sage  North  now,  nor  sager  Sack- 

ville, 
To  watch  and  premier  owre  the  pack 

vile! 
An'  whare  will   ye  get    Howes    and 

Clintons 
To  bring  them  to  a  right  repentance? 
To  cowe  the  rebel  generation, 
An'  save  the  honor  o'  the  nation? 
They,  an'  be  damn'd!  what  right  hae 

they 
To  meat  or  sleep  or  light  o'  day. 
Far  less  to  riches,  pow'r,  or  freedom, 
But  what  your  lordship  likes  to  gie 

them  ? 

But  hear,  my  lord!   Glengary,  hear! 
Your  hand 's  owre  light  on  them.  I  fear : 
Your  factors,  grieves,  trustees,  and  bail- 
ies, 
I  canna  say  but  they  do  gaylies  : 
They  lay  aside  a'  tender  mercies, 
An'  tirl  the  bullions  to  the  birses. 


170 


BIRTHDAY   ODE. 


Yet   while   they're    only   poind   and 

herriet, 
They  '11  keep  their  stubborn  Highland 

spirit. 
But  smash  them!   crush  them  a'  to 

spails, 
An'  rot  the  dyvors  i'  the  jails ! 
The  young  dogs,  swinge  them  to  the 

labour : 
Let  wark  an'  hunger  mak  them  sober! 
The  hizzies,  if  they  're  aughtlins  faw- 

sont, 
Let  them  in  Drury  Lane  be  lesson'd  ! 
An'  if  the  wives  an'  dirty  brats 
Come  thiggin  at  your  doors  an'  yetts, 
Flaffin  wi'  duds  an'  grey  wi'  beas', 
Frighten  awa  your  deuks  an'  geese, 
Get  out  a  horsewhip  or  a  jowler, 
The  langest  thong,  the  fiercest  growler, 
An'  gar  the  tatter'd  gypsies  pack 
Wi'  a'  their  bastards  on  their  back! 

Go  on,  my  Lord!  I  lang  to  meet  you. 
An'  in  my  '  house  at  hame '  to  greet  you. 
Wi'  common  lords  ye  shanna  mingle  : 
The  benmost  neuk  beside  the  ingle. 
At  my  right  han'  assigned  your  seat 
'Tween  Herod's  hip  an'  Polycrate, 
Or  (if  you  on  your  station  tarrow) 
Between  Almagro  and  Pizarro, 
A  seat,  I  'm  sure  ye  're  weel  deservin  't ; 
An'  till  ye  come  —  your  humble  ser- 

'  "  Beelzebub. 

Hell,  • 
isi  yune,  Amio  Mundi  5790. 


BIRTHDAY   ODE   FOR  31ST 
DECEMBER,    1787. 

["This  piece  has  a  melancholy  interest. 
The  greatest  of  Scottish  poets  wrote  the 
last  Birthday  Ode  for  the  last  hope  of.  the 
Stuart  line.  In  a  month  the  king  was  dead." 
—  Andrew  Lang.] 

Afar  the  illustrious  Exile  roams. 
Whom    kingdoms    on   this    day 
should  hail. 
An  inmate  in  the  casual  shed. 
On  transient  pity's  bounty  fed, 


Haunted  by  busy  Memory's  bittef 
tale! 
Beasts    of   the    forest    have   their 
savage  homes. 
But    He,   who    should    imperial 
purple  wear. 
Owns  not  the  lap  of  earth  where  rests 
his  royal  head : 
His  wretched  refuge  dark  despair. 
While  ravening  wrongs  and  woes 

pursue, 
And  distant  far  the  faithful  few 
Who  would  his  sorrows  share  ! 

False  flatterer,  Hope,  away. 

Nor  think  to  lure  us  as  in  days 
of  yore  ! 
We  solemnize  this  sorrowing  natal 
day, 
To   prove  our  loyal  truth  —  we 
can  no  more  — 
And,  owning  Heaven's  mysterious 
sway. 
Submissive,  low,  adore. 
Ye  honor'd,  mighty  Dead, 

Who  nobly  perish'd  in  the  glori- 
ous cause, 
Your   King,   your  Country,  and 
her  laws : 
From  great  Dundee,  who  smiling 

Victory  led 
And  fell  a  Martyr  in  her  arms 
(What  breast  of  northern  ice  but 

warms !), 
To  bold  Balmerino's  undying  name. 
Whose  soul  of  fire,  lighted  at  Heav- 
en's high  flame. 
Deserves    the    proudest   wreath    de- 
parted heroes  claim  ! 

Not  unrevenged  your  fate  shall  lie. 

It  only  lags,  the  fatal  hour: 
Your  blood  shall  with  incessant  cry 
Awake     at     last    th'    unsparing 
Power. 
As  from  the  cliff,  with  thundering 
course. 
The  snowy  ruin  smokes  along 
With  doubling  speed  and  gathering 
force. 


ODE  TO  THE   DEPARTED    REGENCY   BILL. 


171 


Till   deep   it,    crushing,   whelms   the 
cottage  in  the  vale, 
So  Vengeance'  arm,  ensanguined, 
strong, 
Shall  with  resistless  might  assail, 
Usurping   Brunswick's   pride  shall 
lay. 
And  Stewart's  wrongs  and  yours  with 
tenfold  weight  repay. 

Perdition,  baleful  child  of  night. 
Rise  and  revenge  the  injured  right 

Of  Stewart's  royal  race ! 
Lead  on  the  unmuzzled  hounds  of 

Hell, 
Till  all  the  frighted  echoes  tell 

The  blood-notes  of  the  chase ! 
Full  on  the  quarry  point  their  view, 
Full  on  the  base  usurping  crew. 
The  tools  of  faction  and  the  nation's 
curse  ! 

Hark   how   the  cry  grows  on  the 

wind ; 
They   leave   the   lagging  gale   be- 
hind ; 
Their  savage    fury,   pityless,   they 

pour; 
With  murdering  eyes  already  they 

devour ! 
See  Brunswick  spent,  a  wretched 

prey, 
His  life  one  poor  despairing  day. 
Where  each  avenging  hour  still  ushers 

in  a  worse  ! 
Such  Havoc,  howling  all  abroad. 

Their  utter  ruin  bring. 
The  base  apostates  to  their  God 

Or  rebels  to  their  King  ! 


ODE  TO  THE  DEPARTED 
REGENCY  BILL. 

[Fox  insisted  on  a  reorency  during  the 
insanity  of  George  IH.  Pitt  opposed.  In 
the  meantime  the  king  began  to  recover,] 

Daughter  of  Chaos'  doting  years. 
Nurse  of   ten  thousand  hopes    and 
fears  I 


Whether  thy  airy,  unsubstantial  shade 
(The    rights   of  sepulture  now  duly 

paid) 
Spread  abroad  its  hideous  form 
On  the  roaring  civil  storm. 
Deafening  din  and  warring  rage 
Factions  wild  with  factions  wage  ; 
Or  Underground 
Deep-sunk,  profound 
Among  the  demons  of  the  earth, 
With  groans  that  make 
The  mountains  shake 
Thou  mourn  thy  ill-starrd  blighted 

birth  ; 
Or  in  the  uncreated  Void, 

Where  seeds  of  future  being  fight, 

With    lighten'd    step     thou    wander 

wide 

To    greet    thy    mother  —  Ancient 

Night  — 

And  as  each  jarring  monster-mass  is 

past, 
Fond  recollect  what  once  thou  wast : 
In  manner  due,  beneath  this  sacred 

oak. 
Hear,    Spirit,   hear !   thy   presence  I 
invoke ! 

By     a     Monarch's     heaven-struck 
fate ; 

By  a  disunited  State  ; 

By  a  generous  Prince's  wrongs  ; 

By  a  Senate's  war  of  tongues  ; 

By  a  Premiers  sullen  pride 

Louring  on  the  changing  tide  ; 

By    dread    Thurlow's    powers    to 
awe  — 

Rhetoric,  blasphemy  and  law ; 

By  the  turbulent  ocean, 

A  Nation's  commotion ; 

By  the  harlot-caresses 

Of  Borough  addresses; 

By  days  few  and  evil ; 

(Thy  portion,  poor  devil!), 
By  Power,  Wealth,  and  Show  —  the 

Gods  by  men  adored  ; 
By  nameless  Poverty  their  Hell  ab- 
horred ; 

By  all  they  hope,  by  all  they  fear, 

Hear!  and  Appear  ! 


172 


A  NEW  PSALM   FOR  THE   CHAPEL  OF  KILMARNOCK. 


Stare  not  on  me,  thou  ghostly  Power, 
Nor,  grim  with  chained  defiance,  lour! 
No  Babel-structure  would  I  build 

Where,  Order  exil'd  from  his  native 
sway. 
Confusion  might  the  Regent-sceptre 
wield. 

While  all  would  rule  and  none  obey. 
Go  to  the  world  of  Man,  relate 
The  story  of  thy  sad,  eventful  fate; 
And  call  presumptuous  Hope  to  hear 
And  bid  him  check  his  blind  career ; 
And  tell  the  sore-prest  sons  of  Care 

Never,  never  to  despair  ! 

Paint  Charles's  speed  on  wings  of  fire. 
The  object  of  his  fond  desire. 
Beyond  his  boldest  hopes,  at  hand. 
Paint  all  the  triumph  of  the  Portland 

Band 
(Hark!  how  they  lift  the  joy-exulting 

voice, 
And    how   their    numerous   creditors 

rejoice!)  ; 
But  just  as  hopes  to  warm  enjoyment 

rise, 
Cry  'Convalescence!'  and  the  vision 

flies. 

Then  next  pourtray  a  dark'ning  twi- 
light gloom 
Eclipsing  sad  a  gay,  rejoicing  morn. 
While   proud   Ambition   to    th'    un- 
timely torhb 
By  gnashing,  grim,  despairing  fiends 
is  borne ! 
Paint    Ruin,  in   the   shape   of   high 
Dundas 
Gaping  with  giddy  terror  o'er  the 
brow : 
In  vain  he  struggles,  the  Fates  behind 
him  press, 
And  clamorous  Hell  yawns  for  her 
prey  below! 
How  fallen   That,  whose   pride   late 

scaled  the  skies  ! 
And  This,  like  Lucifer,  no  more  to  rise ! 
Again  pronounce  the  powerful  word : 
See  Day,  triumphant  from  the  night, 
restored! 


Then  know  this   truth,    ye    Sons    of 
Men 

(Thus  ends  thy  moral  tale)  : 
Your  darkest  terrors  may  be  vain, 

Your  brightest  hopes  may  fail! 


A     NEW      PSALM      FOR     THE 
CHAPEL   OF   KILMARNOCK, 

on  the  thanksgtving-day  for  his 
majesty's  recovery. 

[Thursday,  April  23,  was  appointed  a 
day  of  solemn  thanksgiving  for  the  recovery 
of  the  king.  Burns  looked  on  the  "  whole 
business  as  a  solemn  farce  of  pageant 
mummery,"  and  composed  this  parody.] 

I. 

O,  SING  a  new  song  to  the  Lord! 

Make,  all  and  every  one, 
A  joyful  noise,  ev'n  for  the  King 

His  restoration! 

II. 

The  sons  of  Belial  in  the  land 
Did  set  their  heads  together. 

'Come,  let  us  sweep  them  off,'  said 
they, 
'Like  an  o'erflowing  river! ' 

III. 

They  set  their  heads  together,  I  say, 
They  set  their  heads  together  : 

On  right,  and  left,  and  every  hand. 
We  saw  none  to  deliver. 

IV. 

Thou  madest  strong  two  chosen  ones, 
To  quell  the  Wicked's  pride  : 

That  Young  Man,  great  in  Issachar, 
The  burden-bearing  tribe ; 

V. 

And  him,  among  the  Princes,  chief 

In  our  Jerusalem, 
The  Judge  that 's  mighty  in  Thy  law, 

The  man  that  fears  Thy  name. 


INSCRIBED  TO  THE   RIGHT   HON.   C.   J.   FOX. 


^71 


VI. 


Yet  they,  even   they  with   all   their 
strength, 

Began  to  faint  and  fail ; 
Even  as  two  howling,  ravening  wolves 

To  dogs  do  turn  their  tail. 


VII. 

Th'  ungodly  o'er  the  just  prevail'd  ; 

For  so  Thou  hadst  appointed. 
That  Thou  mighfst  greater  glory  give 

Unto  Thine  own  anointed! 


VIII. 

And    now  Thou  hast  restored   our 
State, 

Pity  our  Kirk  also  ; 
For  she  by  tribulations 

Is  now  brought  very  low! 

IX. 

Consume  that  high-place.  Patronage, 

From  off  Thy  holy  hill ; 
And  in  Thy  fury  burn  the  book 

Even  of  that  man  M'Gill ! 


X. 

Now  hear  our  prayer,  accept  our  song. 
And  fight  Thy  chosen's  battle! 

We  seek  but  little,  Lord,  from  thee : 
Thou  kens  we  get  as  little ! 


INSCRIBED    TO     THE     RIGHT 
HON.    C.   J.    FOX. 

["  I  have  another  poetic  whim  in  my  head, 
which  I  at  present  dedicate,  or  rather  in- 
scribe, to  the  Hon.  Charles  J,  Fox;  but 
how  long  the  fancy  may  hold  I  can't  say." 
—  Burns  fo  Mrs.  Dunlop.] 

How  Wisdom  and  Folly  meet,  mix, 

and  unite, 
How  Virtue  and  Vice  blend  their  black 

and  their  white, 


How  Genius,  th'  illustrious  father  of 

fiction, 
Confounds    rule  and    law,  reconciles 

contradiction, 
I  sing.     If  these  mortals,  the  critics, 

should  bustle, 
I  care  not,  not  I :    let  the  critics  go 

whistle ! 

But  now  for  a  Patron,  whose  name 
and  whose  glory 
At  once  may  illustrate  and  honor  my 
story :  — 

Thou  first  of  our  orators,  first  of  our 

wits, 
Yet   whose   parts    and   acquirements 

seem  mere  lucky  hits  ; 
With    knowledge    so   vast   and    with 

judgment  so  strong. 
No  man  with  the  half  of  'em  e'er  could 

go  wrong ; 
With  passions  so  potent  and  fancies 

so  bright, 
No  man  with  the  half  of 'em  e'er  could 

go  right ; 
A  sorry,  poor,  misbegot  son  of  the 

Muses, 
For  using  thy  name,  offers  fifty  excuses. 

Good  Lord,  what  is  Man !     For  as 

simple  he  looks. 
Do  but  try  to  develop  his  hooks  and 

his  crooks! 
With  his  depths  and  his  shallows,  his 

good  and  his  evil. 
All  in  all  he  's  a  problem  must  puzzle 

the  Devil. 

On  his  one  ruling  passion  Sir  Pope 
hugely  labors. 

That,  like  th'  old  Hebrew  walking- 
switch,  eats  up  its  neighbours. 

Human  Nature's  his  show-box  —  your 
friend,  would  you  know  him? 

Pull  the  string,  Ruling  Passion  —  the 
picture  will  show  him. 

What  pity,  in  rearing  so  beauteous  a 
system, 

One  trifling  particular  —  Truth  — 
should  have  miss'd  him! 


174 


ON   GLENRIDDELL'S   FOX   BREAKING   HIS   CHAIN. 


For,  spite  of  his  fine  theoretic  posi- 
tions, 

Mankind  is  a  science  defies  defi- 
nitions. 

Some  sort  all  our  qualities  each  to 

its  tribe, 
And  think  Human  Nature  they  truly 

describe : 
Have    you    found    this,   or   t'other? 

There's  more  in  the  wind, 
As  by  one  drunken  fellow  his  comrades 

you  '11  find. 
But  such  is  the  flaw,  or  the  depth  of 

the  plan 
In  the  make  of  that  wonderful  creature 

called  Man, 
No  two  virtues,  whatever  relation  they 

claim. 
Nor  even  two  different  shades  of  the 

same. 
Though  like  as  was  ever  twin  brother 

to  brother. 
Possessing  the  one  shall  imply  you  've 

the  other. 

But  truce  with  abstraction,  and  truce 
with  a  Muse 

Whose  rhymes  you  '11  perhaps,  Sir, 
ne'er  deign  to  peruse ! 

Will  you  leave  your  justings,  your  jars, 
and  your  quarrels. 

Contending  with  Billy  for  proud-nod- 
ding laurels  ? 

My  much-honour'd  Patron,  believe 
your  poor  Poet, 

Your  courage  much  more  than  your 
prudence,  you  show  it. 

In  vain  with  Squire  Billy  for  laurels 
you  struggle  : 

He  '11  have  them  by  fair  trade  —  if  not, 
he  will  smuggle ; 

Nor  cabinets  even  of  kings  would  con- 
ceal 'em. 

He  'd  up  the  back-stairs,  and  by  God 
he  would  steal  'em ! 

Then  feats  like  Squire  Billy's,  you 
ne'er  can  achieve  'em  ; 

It  is  not,  out-do  him  —  the  task  is,  out- 
thieve  him! 


ON    GLENRIDDELL'S    FOX 
BREAKING   HIS   CHAIN. 

A   FRAGMENT,  1 79 1. 

["  A  fragment  in  the  manner  of  Prior  and 
other  fabulists  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
'  The  Whigs  of  Sparta '  had  not  much  to  do 
with  the  defeat  of  Xerxes,  '  that  abandoned 
Tory.' "  —  Andrew  Lang.] 

Thou,  Liberty,  thou  art  my  theme: 
Not  such  as  idle  poets  dream, 
Who  trick  thee  up  a  heathen  goddess 
That  a  fantastic  cap  and  rod  has ! 
Such  stale  conceits  are  poor  and  silly  : 
I  paint  thee  out  a  Highland  filly, 
A  sturdy,  stubborn,  handsome  dapple. 
As  sleek 's  a  mouse,  as    round 's   an 

apple. 
That,   when    thou    pleasest,   can   do 

wonders. 
But  when  thy  luckless  rider  blunders, 
Or  if  thy  fancy  should  demur  there. 
Wilt  break  thy  neck  ere  thou  go  fur- 
ther. 

These   things   premis'd,   I    sing   a 
Fox  — 
Was  cauglit  among  his  native  rocks, 
And  to  a  dirty  kennel  chained  — 
How  he  his  liberty  regained. 

Glenriddell !  a  Whig  without  a  stain, 
A  Whig  in  principle  and  grain, 
Could'st    thou    enslave    a    free-born 

creature, 
A  native  denizen  of  Nature  ? 
How  could'st  thou,  with  a  heart  so 

good 
(A    better    ne'er    was    sluiced   with 

blood). 
Nail  a  poor  devil  to  a  tree. 
That  ne'er  did  harm  to  thine  or  thee? 

The   staunchest  Whig  Glenriddell 
was. 
Quite  frantic  in  his  country's  cause; 
And  oft  was  Reynard's  prison  pass- 
ing, 


ODE   FOR   GENERAL   WASHINGTON'S   BIRTHDAY. 


175 


And  with  his  brother-Whigs  canvdss- 

ing 
The   rights   of  men,    the   powers    of 

women, 
With  all  the  dignity  of  Freemen. 

Sir  Reynard  daily  heard  debates 
Of  princes',  kings',  and  nations'  fates 
With  many  rueful,  bloody  stories 
Of  tyrants,  Jacobites,  and  Tories  : 
From  liberty  how  angels  fell. 
That  now  are  galley-slaves  in  Hell ; 
How  Nimrod  first  the  trade  began 
Of  binding  Slavery's  chains  on  man ; 
How    fell     Semiramis  —  God    damn 

her!  — 
Did  first,  with  sacrilegious  hammer 
(All  ills  till  then  were  trivial  matters) 
For  Man   dethron'd   forge   hen-peck 

fetters  ; 
How  Xerxes,  that  abandoned  Tory, 
Thought  cutting  throats  was  reaping 

glory. 
Until  the  stubborn  Whigs  of  Sparta 
Taught    him   great    Nature's    Magna 

Charta ; 
How  mighty  Rome  her  fiat  hurl'd 
Resistless  o'er  a  bowing  world. 
And,  kinder  than  they  did  desire, 
Polish'd    mankind   with    sword   and 

fire  : 
With  much  too  tedious  to  relate 
Of  ancient  and  of  modern  date. 
But  ending  still  how  Billy  Pitt 
(Unlucky  boy ! )  with  wicked  wit 
Has  gagg'd  old  Britain,  drained  her 

coffer. 
As  butchers  bind  and  bleed  a  heifer. 

Thus  wily  Reynard,  by  degrees 

In  kennel  listening  at  his  ease, 

Suck'd  in  a  mighty  stock  of  know-l- 
edge. 

As  much  as  some  folks  at  a  college  ; 

Knew  Britain's  rights  and  constitu- 
tion. 

Her  aggrandisement,  diminution ; 

How  Fortune  wrought  us  good  from 
evil : 

Let  no  man,  then,  despise  the  Devil, 


As  who  should  say :  '  I  ne'er  can 
need  him,' 

Since  we  to  scoundrels  owe  our  Free- 
dom. 


ON    THE   COMMEMORATION 
OF   RODNEY'S   VICTORY, 

king's  arms,  DUMFRIES,  I2TH  APRIL, 
1793- 

[Rodney's  action  off  Dominica,  April  12, 
1782,  was  for  some  time  celebrated  year  by 
year.  This  version  appeared  in  the  Edin- 
burgh Advertiser ,  April  19,  1793.] 

Instead  of  a  song,  boys,  I  '11  give  you 

a  toast : 
Here 's  the  Mem'ry  of  those  on  the 

Twelfth  that  we  lost  !  — 
We  lost,  did  I  say  ?  —  No,  by  Heav'n, 

that  we  found  ! 
For  their  fame  it  shall  live  w-hile  the 

W'Orld  goes  round. 
The  next  in  succession  I  "11  give  you : 

the  King  ! 
And  who  would  betray  him,  on  high 

may  he  swing ! 
And  here's  the  grand  fabric,  our  Free 

Constitution 
As  .built  on   the  base   of  the   great 

Revolution  ! 
And,  longer  with  Politics  not  to  be 

cramm'd, 
Be  Anarchy  curs'd,  and  be  Tyrannv 

damn'd  ! 
And  who  would  to  Liberty  e'er  prove 

disloyal, 
May  his  son  be  a  hangman  —  and  he 

his  first  trial  ! 


ODE  FOR  GENERAL  WASH- 
INGTON'S BIRTHDAY. 

["  I  am  just  going  to  trouble  your  criti- 
cal patience  with  the  first  sketch  of  a  stanza 
I  have  been  framing  as  I  paced  along  the 
road.    The  subject  is  Liberty :  you  know, 


:76 


ODE  FOR  GENERAL  WASHINGTON'S   BIRTHDAY. 


my  honored  friend,  how  dear  the  theme  is 
to  me.     I  design  it  as  an  irregular  ode  for 
General  Washington's  birthday. 
—  R.  B.to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  June  25,  1794.] 

No  Spartan  tube,  no  Attic  shell, 

No  lyre  ^olian  I  awake. 
*T  is  Liberty^s  bold  note  I  swell : 

Thy  harp,  Columbia,  let  me  take  ! 
See  gathering  thousands,  while  I  sing, 
A  broken  chain,  exulting,  bring 
And  dash  it  in  a  tyrant\s  face, 
And  dare  him  to  his  very  beard, 
And  tell  him  he  no  more  is  fear'd, 
No  more  the  despot  of  Colum- 
bia's race  ! 
A  tyrant's  proudest  insults  braved. 
They  shout  a  People  freed  !     They 
hail  an  Empire  sav'd  ! 

Where  is  man's  godlike  form? 
Where    is    that   brow  erect   and 

bold. 
That  eye  that  can  unmovM  be- 
hold 
The  wildest  rage,  the  loudest  storm 
That   e'er   created   Fury  dared    to 

raise  ? 
Avaunt  !  thou  caitiff,  servile,  base. 
That  tremblest  at  a  despot's  nod. 
Yet,  crouching  under  the  iron  rod, 
Canst  laud  the  arm  that  struck 
th'  insulting  blow  ! 
Art  thou  of  man's  Imperial  line  ? 
Dost  boast  that  countenance  divine? 
Each    skulking    feature    answers : 
No  ! 
But  come,  ye  sons  of  Liberty, 
Columbia's  offspring,  brave  as  free. 
In  danger's  hour  still  flaming  in  the 

van, 
Ye    know,   and    dare    maintain    the 
Royalty  of  Man! 


Alfred,  on  thy  starry  throne 

Surrounded  by  the  tuneful  choir. 
The  Bards  that  erst  have  struck  the 

patriot  lyre. 
And  rous'd  the   freeborn  Briton's 

soul  of  fire. 


No  more  thy  England  own! 
Dare  injured  nations  form  the  great 
design 
To  make  detested  tyrants  bleed  ? 
Thy  England  execrates  the  glorious 

deed  ! 
Beneath  her  hostile  banners  wav- 
ing, 
Every  pang  of  honour  braving, 
England     in     thunder    calls :     *•  The 

Tyrant's  cause  is  mine  ! ' 
That  hour  accurst  how  did  the  fiends 

rejoice, 
And  Hell  thro'  all  her  confines  raise 

th'  exulting  voice  ! 
That  hour  which  saw  the  generous 

English  name 
Link't  with    such    damned  deeds    of 
everlasting  shame  ! 

Thee,    Caledonia,    thy    wild    heaths 
among. 

Fam'd     for    the    martial    deed,    the 
heaven-taught  song, 
To  thee    I    turn     with    swimming 
eyes  ! 

Where  is  that  soul  of  Freedom  fled? 

Immingled  with  the  mighty  dead 
Beneath  that  hallow'd  turf  where 
Wallace  lies ! 

Hear  it  not,  Wallace,  in  thy  bed  of 
death  ! 
Ye     babbling     winds,    in     silence 

sweep  ! 
Disturb  not  ye  the  hero's  sleep, 

Nor  give  the  coward  secret  breath! 

Is  this  the  ancient  Caledonian  form, 

F'irm  as  her  rock,   resistless   as  her 
storm  ? 

Show  me  that  eye  which  shot  immor- 
tal hate. 
Blasting  the  Despot's  proudest  bear- 
ing ! 

Show  me  that  arm  which,  nerv'd  with 
thundering  fate, 
Crush'd  Usurpation's  boldest  dar- 
ing! 

Dark-quench'd     as     yonder    sinking 
star, 

No  more  that   glance  lightens  afar, 


THE   FETE   CHAMPETRE. 


177 


That  palsied  arm  no  more  whirls  on 
the  waste  of  war. 


THE    FETE    CHAMPETRE. 

Tune  :  KilUecrankie. 

[This  related  to  a  picnic  on  the  coming 
of  age  of  Mr.  Cunningham  of  Annbank, 
and  was  the  earUest  of  a  series  of  election 
ballads.] 

I. 

O,  WHA  will  to  Saint  Stephen's  House, 

To  do  our  errands  there,  man? 
O,  wha  will  to  Saint  Stephen's  House 

O'  th'  merry  lads  of  Ayr,  man  ? 
Or  will  ye  send  a  man  o'  law  ? 

Or  will  ye  send  a  sodger  ? 
Or  him  wha  led  o'er  Scotland  a' 

The  meikle  Ursa-Major  ? 


II. 

Come,  will  ye  court  a  noble  lord, 
Or  buy  a  score  o'  lairds,  man  ? 
For  Worth  and  Honour  pawn  their 
word, 
Their   vote    shall   be    Glencaird's, 
man. 
Ane  gies  them  coin,  ane  gies  them 
wine, 
Anither  gies  them  clatter ; 
Annbank,    wha    guess'd    the    ladies' 
taste, 
He  gies  a  Fete  Champetre. 


in. 


When   Love   and   Beauty  heard  the 
news 
The  gay-green  woods  amang,  man. 
Where,  gathering  flowers  and  busk- 
ing bowers, 
They  heard  the  blackbird's  sang, 
man, 
A  vow,  they  seal'd  it  with  a  kiss. 
Sir  Politics  to  fetter : 


As  theirs  alone  the  patent  bliss 
To  hold  a  Fete  Champetre. 


IV. 

Then   mounted    Mirth   on   gleesome 
wing, 

O'er  hill  and  dale  she  flew,  man  ; 
Ilk  wimpling  burn,  ilk  crystal  spring, 

Ilk  glen  and  shaw  she  knew,  man. 
She  summoned  every  social  sprite. 

That  sports  by  wood  or  water. 
On  th'  bonie  banks  of  Ayr  to  meet 

And  keep  this  Fete  Champetre. 


V. 

Cauld  Boreas  wi'  his  boisterous  crew 

Were   bound    to    stakes    like   kye, 
man  ; 
And  Cynthia's  car,  o'  silver  fu', 

Clamb  up  the  starry  sky,  man  : 
Reflected  beams  dwell  in  the  streams. 

Or  down  the  current  shatter : 
The   western    breeze   steals   through 
the  trees 

To  view  this  Fete  Champetre. 

VI. 

How  many  a  robe  sae  gaily  floats. 

What  sparkling  jewels  glance,  man. 
To  Harmony's  enchanting  notes. 

As  moves  the  mazy  dance,  man! 
The  echoing  wood,  the  winding  flood 

Like  Paradise  did  glitter. 
When  angels  met  at  Adam's  yett 

To  hold  their  Fete  Champetre. 

VII. 

When  Politics  came  there  to  mix 

And  make  his  ether-stane,  man. 
He  circled  round  the  magic  ground. 

But  entrance  found  he  nane,  man  : 
He    blush'd   for   shame,   he  quat  his 
name. 

Forswore  it  every  letter, 
Wi'  humble  prayer  to  join  and  share 

This  festive  Fete,  Champetre. 


178 


THE   FIVE  CARLINS. 


THE   FIVE   CARLINS. 

Tune  :   Chevy  Chase. 

[The  Five  Carlins  represent  the  five  bor- 
oughs of  Dumfries-shire  and  Kirkcudbright. 
Dumfries  is  "  Maggie  by  the  banks  o'  Nith  ;  " 
Annan  is  "  Blinkin'  Bess  of  Annandale;" 
Kirkcudbright  "  Brandy  jean  of  Gallo- 
way;  "  Sanquhar  "  Black  Joan  frae  Crich- 
ton  Peel;  "  and  Lochmaben  "  Marjorie  o' 
the  Monie  Lochs."] 

I. 

There  was  five  carlins  in  the  South  : 

They  fell  upon  a  scheme 
To  send  a  lad  to  London  town 

To  bring  them  tidins^s  hame  : 


II. 

Nor  only  bring  them  tidings  hame, 
But  do  their  errands  there  : 

And  aiblins  gowd  and  honor  baith 
Might  be  that  laddie's  share. 


III. 

There  was  Maggie  by  the  Banks  o' 
Nith, 

A  dame  wi'  pride  eneugh  ; 
And  Marjorie  o'  the  Monie  Lochs, 

A  carlin  auld  and  teugh  ; 

IV. 

And  BHnkin  Bess  of  Annandale, 
That  dwelt  near  Solway-side  ; 

And  Brandy  Jean,  that  took  her  gill 
In  Galloway  sae  wide ; 

V. 

And  Black  Jodn  frae  Crichton  Peel, 

O'  gipsy  kith  an'  kin  : 
Five  wighter  carlins  were  na  found 

The  South  countrie  within. 


VI. 

To  send  a  lad  to  London  town 

They  met  upon  a  day ; 
And  monie  a  knight  and  monie  a  laird 

This  errand  fain  wad  gae. 


VII. 


O,  monie  a  knight  and  monie  a  laird 
This  errand  fain  wad  gae ; 

But  nae  ane  could  their  fancy  pleasci 
O,  ne'er  a  ane  but  tway ! 


VIII. 


The  first  ane  was  a  belted  Knight, 

Bred  of  a  Border  band  ; 
And  he  wad  gae  to  London  Town, 

Might  nae  man  him  withstand  ; 


IX. 


And  he  wad  do  their  errands  weel. 
And  meikle  he  wad  say ; 

And  ilka  ane  at  London  court 
Wad  bid  to  him  guid-day. 


X. 


The  neist  cam  in,  a  Soger  boy. 
And  spak  wi'  modest  grace  ; 

And  he  wad  gae  to  London  Town, 
If  sae  their  pleasure  was. 


XI. 


He  wad  na  hecht  them  courtly  gifts, 
Nor  meikle  speech  pretend  ; 

But  he  wad  hecht  an  honest  heart 
Wad  ne'er  desert  his  friend. 


XII. 


Now  wham  to  chuseand  wham  refuse 

At  strife  thae  carlins  fell ; 
For  some  had  gentle  folk  to  please, 

And  some  wad  please  themsel. 


XIII. 


Then  out  spak  mim-mou'd  Meg  o'  Nith, 

And  she  spak  up  wi'  pride, 
And  she  wad  send  the  Soger  lad. 


Whatever  might  betide. 


XIV. 


For  the  auld  Guidman  o'  London  court 

She  didna  care  a  pin  ; 
But  she  wad  send  the  Soger  lad 

To  greet  his  eldest  son. 


ELECTION   BALLAD   FOR  WESTERHA'. 


179 


XV. 


Then  up  sprang  Bess  o'  Annandale, 

And  swore  a  deadly  aith, 
Says:  'I  will  send  the  belted  Knight, 

Spite  of  you  carlins  baith! 


XVI. 

'  For  far-aff  fowls  hae  feathers  fair, 
And  fools  o'  change  are  fain ; 

But  I  hae  tried  this  Border  Knight: 
I  'U  try  him  yet  again.' 

XVII. 

Then    Brandy   Jean   spak   owTe   her 
drink :  — 

'  Ye  w^eel  ken,  kimmers  a', 
The  auld  Guidman  o'  London  court, 

His  back 's  been  at  the  wa' ; 

XVIII. 

*And  monie  a  friend  that  kiss'd  his 
caup 

Is  now  a  fremit  wight ; 
But  it 's  ne'er  be  sae  wi'  Brandy  Jean  — 

I  '11  send  the  Border  Knight.' 

XIX. 

Says  Black  Jodn  frae  Crichton  Peel, 
A  carlin  stoor  and  grim  :  — 

*  The   auld   Guidman   or  the   young 
Guidman 
For  me  may  sink  or  swim ! 


XX. 


'  For  fools  will  prate  o'  right  or  wrang, 

While  knaves  laugh  in  their  slieve  ; 

But  wha  blaws  best  the    horn  shall 


wm 


I  '11  spier  nae  courtier's  leave  ! ' 


XXI. 


Then  slow  raise  Marjorie  o'  the  Lochs, 
And  wrinkled  was  her  brow. 

Her  ancient  weed  was  russet  gray. 
Her  auld  Scots  heart  was  true  :  — 


XXII. 

<  There's  some  great  folk  set  light  by 
me, 

I  set  as  light  by  them  ; 
But  I  will  send  to  London  town 

Wham  I  lo"e  best  at  hame.' 

XXIII. 

Sae  how  this  sturt  and  strife  may  end. 

There  's  naebody  can  tell. 
God  grant  the  King  and  ilka  man 

May  look  weel  to  themsel! 


ELECTION   BALLAD  FOR 
WESTERHA'. 

[In  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  enclosing 
this  ballad,  Burns  wrote  of  the  Duke  of 
Queensberry :  "His  Grace  is  keenly  at- 
tached to  the  Buff  and  Biue  party;  rene- 
gades and  apostates  are,  you  know,  always 
keen."] 

Up  and  w-aur  them  a',  Jamie, 

Up  and  waur  them  a'  ! 
The  Johnstones  hae  the  guidin  o  't : 

Ye  turncoat  whigs,  awa! 


The  Laddies  by  the  banks  o'  Nith 
Wad  trust  his  Grace  wi'  a'.  Jamie ; 

But  hell  sair  them  as  he  sair'd  the 
King  — 
Turn  tail  and  rin  awa,  Jamie. 

II. 

The  day  he  stude  his  country's  friend. 

Or  gied  her  faes  a  claw,  Jamie, 
Or  frae  puir  man  a  blessin  wan  — 

That  day  the  Duke  ne'er  saw,  Jamie. 

III. 

But  wha  is  he,  his  country's  boast  ? 

Like  him  there  is  na  twa,  Jamie  ! 
There's  no  a  callant  tents  the  kye 

But  kens  o'  Westerha',  Jamie. 


i8o 


TURN-COAT  WHIGS   AWA,   MAN. 


IV. 


To 


end   the   wark,   here's   Whistle- 
birk  — 

may 
Jamie!  — 
And  Maxwell  true,  o'  sterling  blue, 
An'  we  '11  be  Johnstones  a',  Jamie. 


Lang 


his     whistle     blaw, 


Up  and  w^aur  them  a'  Jamie, 

Up  and  waur  them  a'! 
The  Johnstones  hae  the  guidin  o't : 

Ye  turncoat  Whigs  awa! 


TURN-COAT    WHIGS 

MAN. 


AWA, 


[In  the  following  ballad,  printed  in  the 
Chambers  edition,  Burns  satirizes  William 
Douglas,  fourth  Duke  of  Queensberry,  the 
notorious  "  Old  Q."] 

As  I  cam  doon  the  banks  o'  Nith 
And  by  Glenriddell's  ha',  man. 

There  I  heard  a  piper  play 
Turti-coat  Whigs  awa,  man. 


Drumlanrig's 


towers    hae    tint    the 
powers 
That  kept  the  lands  in  awe,  man  : 
The  eagle 's  dead,  and  in  his  stead 
We  've  gotten  a  hoodie-craw,  man. 


The   turn-coat   Duke   his  King   for- 
sook. 
When   his    back  was    at   the  wa', 
man : 
The  rattan  ran  wi'  a'  his  clan 

For  fear  the  house  should  fa',  man. 


The  lads  about  the  banks  o'  Nith, 
They  trust  his  Grace  for  a',  man : 

But  he  '11  sair  them  as  he  sair't  his 
King. 
Turn  tail  and  rin  awa,  man. 


ELECTION   BALLAD 

AT  CLOSE  OF  THE  CONTEST  FOR 
REPRESENTING  THE  DUMFRIES 
BURGHS,    1790. 

Addressed  to  Robert  Graha7n  of 
Fintry. 

[The  ballad  sent  to   Graham  is  dated 
June  10,  1790.] 


Fintry,  my  stay  in  worldly  strife, 
Friend  o'  my  Muse,  friend  o'  my  life, 

Are  ye  as  idle  's  I  am  ? 
Come,  then  !    Wi'  uncouth  kintra  fleg 
O'er  Pegasus  I  '11  fling  my  leg. 

And  ye  shall  see  me  try  him! 

II. 

But  where  shall  I  gae  rin  or  ride. 
That  I  may  splatter  nane  beside? 

I  wad  na  be  uncivil : 
In  mankind's  various  paths  and  ways 
There  's  ay  some  doytin  body  strays, 

And  I  ride  like  a  devil. 

III. 

Thus  I  break  aff  wi'  a'  my  birr. 
An'  down  yon  dark,  deep  alley  spur, 

Where  Theologies  dander : 
Alas  !  curst  wi'  eternal  fogs. 
And  damn'd  in  everlasting  bogs. 

As  sure 's  the  Creed  I  '11  blunder ! 

IV. 

I  '11  stain  a  band,  or  jaup  a  gown. 
Or  rin  my  reckless,  guilty  crown 

Against  the  haly  door! 
Sair  do  I  rue  my  luckless  fate, 
When,  as  the  Muse  an"  Deil  wad  hae 

I  rade  that  road  before  ! 


Suppose  I  take  a  spurt,  and  mix 
Amang  the  wilds  o'  Politics  — 
Electors  and  elected  — 


ELECTION    BALLAD. 


181 


Where  dogs  at  Court   (sad  sons  o' 

bitches  !) 
Seplennially  a  madness  touches, 
Till  all  the  land's  infected? 


VI. 

All  hail,  Drumlanrig's  haughty  Grace, 
Discarded  remnant  of  a  race 

Once  godlike  —  great  in  story  ! 
Thy  fathers'  virtues  all  contrasted, 
The  very  name  of  Douglas  blasted, 

Thine  that  inverted  glory  ! 

VII. 

Hate,  envy,  oft  the  Douglas  bore ; 
But  thou  hast  superadded  more, 

And  sunk  them  in  contempt! 
P^ollies  and  crimes  have  stain'd  the 

name ; 
But,  Queensberry,   thine   the   virgin 
claim, 
From  aughtthat  's good  exempt ! 

VIII. 

I  '11  sing  the  zeal  Drumlanrig  bears, 
Who  left  the  all-important  cares 

Of  fiddlers,  whores,  and  hunters. 
And,  bent  on  buying  Borough  Towns, 
Came    shaking    hands    wi'    wabster- 
loons. 

And  kissing  barefit  bunters. 

IX. 

Combustion  thro'  our  boroughs  rode. 
Whistling  his  roaring  pack  abroad 

Of  mad  unmuzzled  lions, 
As  Queensberry  bufif-and-blue  unfurl'd. 
And  Westerha'  and  Hopeton  hurl'd 

To  every  Whig  defiance. 


X. 

But   cautious    Queensberry   left    the 

war 
(Th'  unmannerd  dust  might  soil  his 
star; 
Besides,  he  hated  bleeding), 


But  left  behind  him  heroes  bright, 
Heroes  in  Caesarean  fight 

Or  Ciceronian  pleading. 

XI. 

O,  for  a  throat  like  huge  Mons-Meg, 
To  muster  o'er  each  ardent  Whig 

Beneath  Drumlanrig's  banner  ! 
Heroes  and  heroines  commix, 
All  in  the  field  of  politics. 

To  win  immortal  honor  ! 


XII. 

M^Murdo  and  his  lovely  spouse 
(Th'     enamour'd     laurels    kiss     her 
brows!) 

Led  on  the  Loves  and  Graces  : 
She  won  each  gaping  burgess'  heart. 
While  he,  sub  rosd,  played  his  part 

Among  their  wives  and  lasses. 

XIII. 

Craigdarroch  led  a  light-arm'd  core  : 
Tropes,  metaphors,  and  figures  pour, 

Like  Hecla  streaming  thunder. 
Glenriddell,  skilFd  in  rusty  coins, 
Blew  up  each  Tory's  dark  designs 

And  bared  the  treason  under. 

xrv. 

In  either  wing  two  champions  fought : 
Redoubted  Staig,  who  set  at  nought 

The  wildest  savage  Tory  ; 
And  Welsh,  who  ne'er  yet  flinch'd  his 

ground, 
High-wav'd  his  magnum-bonum  round 

With  Cyclopeian  fury. 

XV. 

Miller  brought  up  th'  artillery  ranks. 
The  many-pounders  of  the  Banks, 

Resistless  desolation  ! 
While  Maxwelton,  that  baron  bold,  _ 
'Mid    Lawson's    port    entrench'd  his 
hold 
And  threaten'd  worse  damna- 
tion. 


l82 


ELECTION   BALLAD. 


XVI. 

To  these  what  Tory  hosts  oppos'd. 
With  these  what  Tory  warriors  clos'd. 

Surpasses  my  descriving : 
Squadrons,  extended  long  and  large, 
With  furious  speed  rush  to  the  charge, 

Like  furious  devils  driving. 

XVII. 

What  verse  can  sing,  what  prose  nar- 
rate 
The  butcher  deeds  of  bloody  Fate 

Amid  this  mighty  tulyie? 
Grim    Horror    girn'd,    pale    Terror 

roared. 
As  Murther  at  his  thrapple  shor'd. 

And  Hell  mixM  in  the  brulyie. 

XVIII. 

As  Highland  craigs  by  thunder  cleft, 
When  lightnings  fire  the  stormy  lift. 

Hurl  down  with  crashing  rattle. 
As  flames  among  a  hundred  woods, 
As  headlong  foam  a  hundred  floods  — 

Such  is  the  rage  of  Battle ! 

XIX. 

The  stubborn  Tories  dare  to  die : 
As  soon  the  rooted  oaks  would  fly 

Before  th'  approaching  fellers! 
The   Whigs   come   on   like   Ocean's 

roar. 
When  all  his  wintry  billows  pour 

Against  the  Buchan  Bullers. 


XX. 

Lo,  from  the  shades  of  Death's  deep 

night 
Departed  Whigs  enjoy  the  fight. 

And  think  on  former  daring ! 
The  mufiied  murtherer  of  Charles 
The  Magna  Charta  flag  unfurls. 

All  deadly  gules  its  bearing. 

XXI. 

Nor  wanting  ghosts  of  Tory  fame : 
Bold     Scrimgeour    follows    gallant 
Graham, 


Forgive  ! 


Auld  Covenanters  shiver  .   .   . 
forgive  !      much-wrong'd 
Montrose  ! 
Now   Death  and   Hell   engulph   thy 
foes. 
Thou  liv'st  on  high  forever  ! 

XXII. 

Still  o'er  the  field  the  combat  burns  ; 
The    Tories,   Whigs,    give    way   by 
turns ; 

But  Fate  the  word  has  spoken  ; 
For  woman's  wit  and  strength  o'  man, 
Alas  !  can  do  but  what  they  can  : 

The  Tory  ranks  are  broken. 

XXIII. 

O,  that  my  een  were  flowing  burns  ! 
My  voice  a  lioness  that  mourns 

Her  darling  cubs'  undoing 
That  I  might  greet,  that  I  might  cry, 
While  Tories  fall,  while  Tories  fly 

From  furious  Whigs  pursuing  ! 

XXIV. 

What  Whig  but  melts  for  good  Sir 

James, 
Dear  to  his  country  by  the  names, 
Friend,  Patron,  Benefactor  ? 
Not  Pulteney's  wealth  can  Pulteney 

save ; 
And   Hopeton   falls  —  the  generous, 
brave  !  — 
And  Stewart  bold  as  Hector. 

XXV. 

Thou,  Pitt,  shall  rue  this  overthrow, 
And  Thurlow  growl  this  curse  of  woe. 

And  Melville  melt  in  wailing  ! 
Now  Fox  and  Sheridan  rejoice, 
And  Burke  shall  sing :  — '  O  Prince, 
arise  ! 

Thy  power  is  all  prevailing  ! ' 

XXVI. 

For  your  poor  friend,  the  Bard,  afar 
He  sees  and  hears  the  distant  war, 

A  cool  spectator  purely  : 
So,  when  the  storm  the  forest  rends, 


FIRST   HERON   ELECTION   BALLAD. 


183 


The  robin  in  the  hedge  descends, 

And,  patient,  chirps  securely. 


XXVII. 


Now,  for  my  friends'  and  brethren's 
sakes, 


And     for     my    dear-lov'd     Land    o' 
Cakes, 
I  pray  with  holy  fire  :  — 
Lord,   send   a   rough-shod   troop    o' 

Hell 
O'er  a'  wad  Scotland  buy  or  sell. 
To  grind  them  in  the  mire  ! 


BALLADS   ON    MR.    HERON'S    ELECTION,    1795. 


BALLAD   FIRST. 

[In  this  election  Burns  warmly  supported 
Mr.  Heron,  not  merely  for  friendship's  sake, 
but  out  of  especial  dislike  to  the  more  con- 
spicuous of  his  opponent's  supporters.] 


Wham  will  we  send  to  London  town. 

To  Parliament  and  a'  that? 
Or  wha  in  a'  the  country  round 
The  best  deserves  to  fa'  that? 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 
Thro'  Galloway  and  a'  that. 
Where  is   the   Laird   or  belted 
Knight 
That  best  deserves  to  fa'  that? 

II. 

Wha  sees  Kerroughtree's  open  yett  — 

And  wha  is  't  never  saw  that  ?  — 
Wha  ever  wi'  Kerroughtree  met, 
And  has  a  doubt  of  a'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 
Here  's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that ! 
The  independent  patriot, 

The  honest  man,  and  a'  that ! 

III. 

Tho'  wit  and  worth,  in  either  sex, 
Saint  Mary's  Isle  can  shaw  that, 
Wi'  Lords  and  Dukes  let  Selkirk  mix, 
And  weel  does  Selkirk  fa'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 
Here's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that  ! 


An  independent  commoner 
Shall  be  the  man  for  a'  that. 


rv. 

But  why  should  we  to  Nobles  jeuk. 

And  it  against  the  law,  that, 
And  even  a  Lord  may  be  a  gowk, 
Wi'  ribban,  star,  and  a'  that  ? 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 
Here  's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that  ! 
A  Lord  may  be  a  lousy  loon, 
Wi'  ribban,  star,  and  a'  that. 


A  beardless  boy  comes  o'er  the  hills 

Wi 's  uncle's  purse  and  a*  that ; 
But  we  '11  hae  ane  frae  'mang  oursels, 
A  man  we  ken,  and  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 
Here  's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that  1 
We  are  na  to  be  bought  and  sold. 
Like   nowte,   and    naigs,  and   a' 
that. 

VI. 

Then  let  us  drink  :  — 'The  Stewartry, 

Kerroughtree's  laird,  and  a'  that. 
Our  representative  to  be  ' : 
For  weel  he  's  worthy  a'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 
Here's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that ! 
A  House  of  Commons  such  as  he, 
They  wad  be  blest  that  saw  that 


1 84 


THE   ELECTION. 


BALLAD   SECOND 
ELECTION. 


THE 


Tune  :  Fy,  Let  Us  A'  to  The  Bridal. 
[A  parody  of  "The  Blythsome  Wedding."] 


Fy,  let  us  a'  to  Kirkcudbright, 

For  there  will  be  bickerin  there ; 
For  Murray ^s  light  horse  are  to  mus- 
ter, 

An'  O,  how  the  heroes  will  swear ! 
And  there  will  be  Murray  commander, 

An'  Gordon  the  battle  to  win  : 
Like  brothers,  they'll  stan'  by  each 
other, 

Sae  knit  in  alliance  and  kin. 

II. 

An'  there  '11  be  black-nebbit  Johnie, 

The  tongue  o'  the  trump  to  them  a' : 
Gin  he  get  na  Hell  for  his  haddin, 

The  l3eil  gets  nae  justice  ava  ! 
And  there  '11  be  Kempleton's  birkie, 

A  boy  no  sae  black  at  the  bane ; 
But  as  to  his  fine  nabob  fortune  — 

We  '11  e'en  let  the  subject  alane  ! 

III. 

An'  there  '11  be-Wigton's  new  sheriff — 

Dame  Justice  fu'  brawly  has  sped  : 
She  's  gotten  the  heart  of  a  Bushby, 

But  Lord !   what 's  become  o'  the 
head  ? 
An'  ihere  '11  be  Cardoness,  Esquire, 

Sae  mighty  in  Cardoness'  eyes : 
A  wight  that  will  weather  damnation, 

For  the  Devil  the  prey  would  des- 
pise. 

IV. 

An'  there  '11  be  Douglasses  doughty. 
New    christening    towns    far    and 
near: 

Abjuring  their  democrat  doings 
An'  kissing  the  arse  of  a  peer  ! 


An'  there  '11  be  Kenmure  sae  srener- 
ous, 

VVha's  honor  is  proof  to  the  storm  •. 
To  save  them  from  stark  reprobation 

He  lent  them  his  name  to  the  firm! 


V. 

But  we  winna  mention  Redcastle, 

The  body — e'en  let  him  escape  ! 
He  'd  venture  the  gallows  for  siller, 

An'  't  were  na  the  cost  o'  the  rape  ! 
An'  whare  is  our  King's  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant, 

Sae  famed  for  his  gratefu'  return  ? 
The  billie  is  getting  his  Questions 

To  say  at  St.  Stephen's  the  morn ! 

VI. 

An'  there'll  be  lads  o'  the  gospel : 
Muirhead,  wha  's  as  guid  as  he 's 
true ; 
An'  there'll  be  Buittle's  Apostle, 
Wha 's  mair  o'  the  black  than  the 
blue ; 
An'  there  '11  be  folk  frae  St.  Mary's, 
A  house  o'  great  merit  and  note : 
The  Deil  ane  but  honors  them  highly. 
The   Deil   ane   will   gie   them  his 
vote ! 

VII. 

An'  there  '11  be  wealthy  young  Rich- 
ard, 

Dame  Fortune  should  hang  by  the 
neck : 
But  for  prodigal  thriftless  bestowing. 

His  merit  had  won  him  respect 
An'  there'll  be  rich  brither  nabobs ; 

Tho'  nabobs,  yet  men  o'  the  first ! 
An'  there  '11  be  Collieston's  whiskers. 

An'  Quinton  —  o'  lads  no  the  warst ! 

VIII. 

An'  there  '11  be  Stamp-Office  Johnie  : 
Tak  tent  how  ye  purchase  a  dram  ! 

An'  there  '11  be  gay  Cassencarry, 
An'  there'll  be  Colonel  Tam : 


JOHN   BUSHBY'S    LAMENTATION. 


185 


An'  there  '11  be  trusty  Kerroughtree, 
Wha's  honour  was  ever  his  law  : 

If  the  virtues  were  pack't  in  a  parcel, 
His  worth  might  be  sample  for  a' ! 


IX, 

An'  can  we  forget  the  auld  Major, 
Wha  '11    ne'er    be    forgot    in    the 
Greys  ? 
Our    flattVy    we'll    keep     for    some 
other : 
Him  only  it 's  justice  to  praise  ! 
An'  there  '11  be  maiden  Kilkerran, 
An'      also      Barskimming's      guid 
Knight. 
An'  there  '11  be  roaring  Birtwhistle  — 
Yet  luckily  roars  in  the  right ! 


X. 

An'  there  frae  the  Niddlesdale  bor- 
der 
Will     mingle     the     Maxwell's     in 
droves : 
Teuch  Johnie,  Staunch  Geordie,  and 
Wattie 
That     girns    for    the     fishes     an' 
loaves ! 
An'  there  '11  be  Logan's  M'Doual  — 
Sculdudd'ry  an'  he  will  be  there! 
An'  also  the  wild  Scot  o'  Galloway, 
Sogering,  gunpowther  Blair! 


XI. 

Then    hey    the    chaste    interest    of 
Broughton. 
An'    hey   for   the   blessings   't  will 
bring  ! 
It  may  send  Balmaghie  to  the  Com- 
mons— 
In  Sodom  't  would  mak  him  a  King! 
An'  hey  for  the  sanctified  Murray 

Our  land  whg^wi'  chapels  has  stor'd  ; 
He  founder'd  his  horse  among  har- 
lots, 
But   gie'd    the    auld    naig    to    the 
Lord! 


BALLAD   THIRD. 

JOHN    BUSHBY'S   LAMENTATION. 

Tune  :  Babes  in  the  Wood. 

[Bushby,  the  son  of  a  spirit-dealer  in 
Dumfries,  became  a  lawyer,  and  afterwards 
a  private  banker  in  the  same  town.j 


'TwAS  in  the  Seventeen  Hunder  year 
O'  grace,  and  Ninety-Five, 

That  year  I  was  the  wae'est  man 
Of  onie  man  alive. 


II. 

In     March    the     three-an'-twentieth 
morn, 

The  sun  raise  clear  an'  bright 
But  O,  I  was  a  waefu"  man, 

Ere  to-fa'  o'  the  nis^ht ! 


III. 

Yerl  Galloway  lang  did  rule  this  land 

Wi'  equal  right  and  fame, 
Fast  knit  in  chaste  and  holy  bands 

With  Broughton's  noble  name. 

rv. 

Yerl  Galloway's  man  o'  men  was  T, 
And  chief  o'  Broughton's  host : 

So  twa  blind  beggars,  on  a  string, 
The  faithfu'  tyke  will  trust ! 

V. 

But  now  Yerl   Galloway's   sceptre 's 
broke. 

And  Broughton 's  wi'  the  slain. 
And  I  my  ancient  craft  may  try, 

Sin'  honesty  is  gane. 

VI. 

'T  was  by  the  banks  o'  bonie  Dee, 
Beside  Kirkcudbright's  towers, 

The  Stewart  and  the  Murray  there 
Did  muster  a'  their  powers. 


i86 


THE   TROGGER. 


VII. 


Then  Murray  on  the  auld  grey  yaud 
Wi'  winged  spurs  did  ride : 

That  auld  grey  yaud  a'  Nidsdale  rade, 
He  staw  upon  Nidside. 


VIII. 


An'  there  ha    na  been  the  Yerl  him- 
sel, 

O,  there  had  been  nae  play! 
But  Garlies  was  to  London  gane, 

And  sae  the  kye  might  stray. 


IX. 


And  there  was  Balmaghie,  I  ween 
In  front  rank  he  wad  shine ; 

But  Balmaghie  had  better  been 
Drinkin'  Madeira  wine. 


X. 

And  frae  Glenkens  cam  to  our  aid 

A  chief  o'  doughty  deed  : 
In  case  that  worth  should  wanted  be, 

O'  Kenmure  we  had  need. 

XI. 

And  by  our  banners  march'd  Muir- 
head, 
And  Buittle  was  na  slack, 
Whase   haly  priesthood  nane   could 
stain, 
For  wha  could  dye  the  black  ? 

XII. 

And  there  was  grave  Squire  Cardo- 
ness, 

Look'd  on  till  a'  was  done  : 
Sae  in  the  tower  o'  Cardoness 

A  howlet  sits  at  noon. 

XIII. 

And  there  led  I  the  Bushby  clan : 
My  gamesome  billie,  Will, 

And  my  son  Maitland,  wise  as  brave. 
My  footsteps  followed  still. 


XIV. 

The  Douglas  and  the  Heron's  name. 
We  set  nought  to  their  score ; 

The  Douglas  and  the  Heron's  name 
Had  felt  our  weight  before. 

XV. 

But  Douglasses  o'  weight  had  we : 

The  pair  o'  lusty  lairds. 
For  building  cot-houses  sae  fam'd, 

And  christenin  kail-yards. 

XVI. 

And  then  Redcastle  drew  his  sword 
That  ne'er  was  stain'd  wi'  gore 

Save  on  a  wand'rer  lame  and  blind, 
To  drive  him  frae  his  door. 

XVII. 

And  last  cam  creepin  Collieston, 
Was  mair  in  fear  than  wrath  ; 

Ae  knave  was  constant  in  his  mind  — 
To  keep  that  knave  frae  scaith. 


BALLAD   FOURTH 
TROGGER. 


THE 


Tune  :  Buy  Brooj)!  Besoms. 

[Written  for  Heron's  election  for  Kirkcud- 
bright. Burns  died  before  tlie  result  was 
known.  A  trogger  is  a  travelling  hawker  or 
packman.] 

ChortiS. 

Buy  braw  troggin 

Frae  the  banks  o'  Dee  ! 

Wha  wants  troggin 
Let  him  come  to  me  ! 


I. 

•* 
Wha  will  buy  my  troggin. 

Fine  election  ware, 
Broken  trade  o'  Broughton, 
A'  in  high  repair? 


THE   DEAN   OF  THE   FACULTY. 


1S7 


II. 

There  's  a  noble  Earl's 
Fame  and  high  renown, 

For  an  auld  sang  —  it 's  thought 
The  guids  were  stown. 


III. 

Here's  the  worth  o'  Broughton 

In  a  needle's  e'e. 
Here 's  a  reputation 

Tint  by  Balmaghie. 


IV. 

Here  's  its  stuff  and  lining, 
Cardoness's  head  — 

Fine  for  a  soger, 
A'  the  wale  o'  lead. 


Here 's  a  little  wadset  — 
Buittle  scrap  o'  truth, 

Pawn'd  in  a  gin-shop. 
Quenching  holy  drouth. 

VI. 

Here 's  an  honest  conscience 
Might  a  prince  adorn, 

Frae  the  downs  o'  Tinwald  — 
So  was  never  worn  ! 

VII. 

Here  's  armorial  bearings 
Frae  the  manse  o'  Urr : 

The  crest,  a  sour  crab-apple 
Rotten  at  the  core. 

VIII. 

Here  is  Satan's  picture, 

Like  a  bizzard  gled 
Pouncing  poor  Redcastle, 

Sprawlin  like  a  taed. 

IX. 

Here 's  the  font  where  Douglas 
Stane  and  mortar  names. 

Lately  used  at  Caily 

Christening  Murray's  crimes. 


X. 


Here  's  the  worth  and  wisdom 
Collieston  can  boast : 

By  a  thievish  midge 
They  had  been  nearly  lost 


XI. 

Here  is  Murray's  fragments 
O'  the  Ten  Commands, 

Gifted  by  Black  Jock 

To  get  them  aff  his  hands. 

XII. 

Saw  ye  e'er  sic  troggin?  — 
If  to  buy  ye  're  slack, 

Hornie's  turnin  chapman : 
He'll  buy  a' the  pack  ! 

Chc7'us. 

Buy  braw  troggin 

Frae  the  banks  o"  Dee! 
Wha  wants  troggin 

Let  him  come  to  me! 


THE  DEAN  OF  THE  FACULTY. 

A   NEW   BALLAD. 

Tune  .-    The  Drag07i  of  \\  'antley. 

[This  ballad  refers  to  a  contest  between 
Mr.  Erskine  and  Mr.  Dundas  for  the  dean- 
ship  of  the  Faculty  of  Advocates,  Mr. 
Dundas  was  elected.] 

I. 

Dire  was  the  hate  at  Old  Harlaw 
That  Scot  to  Scot  did  carry  ; 

And  dire  the  discord  Langside  saw 
For  beauteous,  hapless  Marv. 

But  Scot  to  Scot  ne'er  met  so  hot, 
Or  were  more  in  fury  seen.  Sir, 

Than    'twixt    Hal   and    Bob   for   the 
famous  job, 

Who  should  be  the  Facultv's  Dean, 
Sir. 


THE  TARBOLTON    LASSES. 


II. 

This  Hal  for  genius,  wit,  and  lore 

Among  the  first  was  numbered 
But  pious  Bob,  ^mid  learning's  store, 

Commandment  the  Tenth  remem- 
berd. 
Yet  simple  Bob  the  victory  got, 

And  won  his  heart's  desire  : 
Which  shows  that  Heaven  can  boil 
the  pot, 

Tho**  the  Deil  piss  in  the  fire. 

III. 

Squire  Hal,  besides,  had  in  this  case 

Pretensions  rather  brassy ; 
For  talents,  to  deserve  a  place. 

Are  qualifications  saucy. 
So  their  worships  of  the  Faculty, 

Quite  sick  of  Merit's  rudeness. 
Chose  one  who  should  owe  it  all,  d'  ye 
see, 

To  their  gratis  grace  and  goodness. 


IV. 

As  once  on  Pisgah  purg'd  was  the  sight 

Of  a  son  of  Circumcision, 
So,  may  be,  on  this  Pisgah  height 

Bob's  purblind  mental  vision. 
Nay,  Bobby's  mouth  may  be  open'd 
yet. 

Till  for  eloquence  you  hail  him. 
And  swear  that  he  has  the  Angel  met 

That  met  the  Ass  of  Balaam. 


In  your  heretic  sins  may  ye  live  and 
die, 

Ye  heretic  Eight-and-Thirty! 
But  accept,  ye  sublime  majority, 

My  congratulations  hearty! 
With  your  honors,  as  with  a  certain 
King, 

In  your  servants  this  is  striking, 
The  more  incapacity  they  bring 

The  more  they  're  to  your  liking. 


MISCELLANIES. 


THE   TARBOLTON    LASSES. 


[An  early  attempt  at  satire, 
by  Chambers  (185 1).] 


Published 


If  ye  gae  up  to  yon  hill-tap. 
Ye  '11  there  see  bonie  Peggy 

She  kens  her  father  is  a  laird, 
And  she  forsooth  's  a  leddy. 


II. 


There 's  Sophy  tight,  a  lassie  bright, 
Besides  a  handsome  fortune  : 

Wha  canna  win  her  in  a  night 
Has  little  art  in  courtin. 


III. 


Gae  down  by  Faile,  and  taste  the  ale, 
And  tak  a  look  o'  Mysie : 


She 's  dour  and  din,  a  deil  within. 
But  aiblins  she  may  please  ye. 

IV. 

If  she  be  shy,  her  sister  try. 
Ye  '11  may  be  fancy  Jenny  : 

If  ye  '11  dispense  wi'  want  o'  sense, 
She  kens  hersel  she 's  bonie. 


As  ye  gae  up  by  yon  hillside, 

Spier  in  for  bonie  Bessy  : 
She  '11  gie  ye  a  beck,  and  bid  ye  light, 

And  handsomely  address  ye. 


VI. 

There  's  few  sae  bonie,  nane  sae  guid 
In  a'  King  George'  dominion: 

If  ye  should  doubt  the  truth  of  this. 
It's  Bessy's  ain  opinion. 


THE  RONALDS  OF  THE  BENNALS. 


189 


THE   RONALDS  OF  THE  BEN- 
NALS. 

[The  Bennals  was  a  farm  in  Tarbolton 
Parish.    Miss  Jean  refused  Gilbert  Burns.] 

I. 

Ix  Tarbolton,  ye  ken,  there  are  proper 
young  men, 
And  proper  young  lasses  and  a', 
man  : 
But  ken  ye  the  Ronalds  that  live  in 
the  Bennals? 
They  carry  the  gree  frae  them  a', 
man. 

II. 

Their  father's  a  laird,  and  weel   he 
can  spare  't : 
Braid   money   to   tocher   them   a\ 
man ;  • 

To  proper  young  men,  he  '11  clink  in 
the  hand 
Gowd  guineas  a  hunder  or  twa,  man. 


III. 

There 's  ane  they  ca'  Jean,  I  '11  warrant 
ye  *ve  seen 
As  bonie  a  lass  or  as  braw,  man ; 
But  for  sense  and  guid  taste  she  '11  vie 
wi'  the  best. 
And  a  conduct  that  beautifies  a', 
man. 

IV. 

The  charms  o'  the  min',  the  langer 
they  shine 
The   mair  admiration    they   draw, 
man ; 
While  peaches  and  cherries,  and  roses 
and  lilies, 
They  fade   and   they  wither   awa, 
man. 

V. 

If  ye  be  for  Miss  Jean,  tak  this  frae  a 
frien', 
A  hint  o'  a  rival  or  twa,  man : 


The   Laird   o'  Blackbyre   wad   gang 
through  the  fire. 
If  that  wad  entice  her  awa,  man. 


VI. 

The  Laird  o'  Braehead  has  been  on 
his  speed 
For  mair  than  a  towmond  or  twa, 
man  : 
The  Laird  o'  the  Ford  will  straught  on 
a  board. 
If  he  canna  get  her  at  a',  man. 

VII. 

Then  Anna  comes  in,  the   pride  o' 
her  kin. 
The    boast    of   our    bachelors   a', 
man : 
Sae  sonsy  and  sweet,  sae  fully  com- 
plete. 
She  steals  our  affections  awa,  man. 

VIII. 

If  I  should  detail  the  pick  and  the 
wale 
O'  lasses  that  live  here  awa,  man, 
The  faut  wad  be  mine,  if  they  didna 
shine 
The  sweetest  and  best  o'  them  a', 
man. 

IX. 

I   lo'e   her   mvsel,   but   darena    weel 
tell. 
My  poverty  keeps  me  in  awe,  man  ; 
For  making  o'  rhymes,  and  working 
at  times. 
Does  little  or  naething  at  a',  man. 

X. 

Yet  I  wadna  choose  to  let  her  refuse 
Nor  hae  't  in  her  power  to  say  na, 
man  : 
For    though    I   be    poor,   unnoticed, 
obscure. 
My   stomach's  as  proud  as  them 
a',  man. 


190     I'LL  no   AND   BE  A  SODGER.  — THE   BELLES  OF  MAUCHLINE. 


XI. 

Though  I  canna  ride  in  well-booted 
pride, 
And  flee  o'er  the  hills  like  a  craw, 
man, 
I  can  hand  up  my  head  wi'  the  best  o' 
the  breed, 
Though   fluttering   ever    so   braw, 
man. 

XII. 

My  coat  and  my  vest,  they  are  Scotch 
o'  the  best ; 
O'  pairs  o'  guid  breeks  I  hae  twa, 
man, 
And  stockings  and  pumps  to  put  on 
my  stumps, 
And  ne'er  a  wrang  steek  in  them 
a\  man. 

XIII. 

My  sarks   they  are   few,  but  five  o' 
them  new  — 
TwaP    hundred,   as   white   as    the 
snaw,  man ! 
A   ten-shillings  hat,  a  Holland  cra- 
vat— 
There    are   no    monie    Poets    sae 
braw,  man  ! 


XIV. 

I   never  had  frien's  weel  stockit  in 
means. 
To   leave   me   a  hundred   or  twa, 
man ; 
Nae  weel-tocher'd  aunts,  to  wait  on 
their  drants 
And  wish  them  in   hell   for  it  a', 
man. 


XV. 

I  never  was  cannie  for  hoarding  o' 
money. 
Or  claughtin  't  together  at  a',  man  ; 
I  've  little  to  spend  and  naething  to 
lend, 
But  devil  a  shiUing  I  awe,  man. 


I'LL   GO  AND  BE   A   SODGER. 

[Inspired,  it  may  be,  by  the  destruction 
of  the  shop  at  Irvine,  when  the  writer  was 
"  left,  like  a  true  poet,  not  worth  sixpence."] 


O,  WHY  the  deuce  should  I  repine, 

And  be  an  ill  foreboder  ? 
I  'm  twenty-three  and  five  feet  nine, 

I  '11  go  and  be  a  sodger, 

II. 

I  gat  some  gear  wi'  meikle  care, 

I  held  it  weel  thegither ; 
But  now  it 's  gane  —  and  something 
mair : 

I  '11  go  and  be  a  sodger. 


APOSTROPHE  TO  FERGUSSON. 

INSCRIBED    ABOVE    AND    BELOW    HIS 
PORTRAIT. 

[The  copy  of  Fergusson  bearing  this  pas- 
sionate but  Anglified  protest,  was  given  by 
Burns  to  Miss  R.  Carmichael,  a  writer  of 
verse.] 

Curse  on  ungratefiil  man,  that  can 

be  pleas'd 
And  yet  can  starve  the  author  of  the 

pleasure  ! 

O  thou,  my  elder  brother  in  mis- 
fortune. 

By  far  my  elder  brother  in  the  Muse, 

With  tears  I  pity  thy  unhappy  fate  ! 

Why  is  the  Bard  unfitted  for  the 
world, 

Yet  has  so  keen  a  relish  of  its 
pleasures  ? 


THE  BELLES  OF  MAUCHLINE. 

[These  young  ladies  were  all  married, 
and  their  histories  have  been  traced.  Miss 
Armour  became  Mrs.  Burns.] 


In  Mauchline  there  dwells  six  proper 
young  belles. 


AH,    WOE   IS   ME.  — LINES    WRI'lTEN   ON   A   BANK   NOTE.       191 


The  pride  of  the  place  and  its  neigh- 
bourhood cC, 

Their  carriage  and  dress,  a  stranger 
would  guess. 

In  London  or  Paris  they'd  gotten 
it  a\ 


n. 

Miss  Millar  is  fine,  Miss  Markland  's 

divine, 
Miss  Smith  she  has  wit,  an  Miss  Betty 

is  braw, 
There 's  beauty  and  fortune  to  get  wi' 

Miss  Morton ; 
But   Armour's   the  jewel  for  me  o' 

them  a\ 


AH,  WOE  IS  ME,  MY  MOTHER 
DEAR. 

Jeremiah,  chap.  xv.  verse  10. 

[The  lines  were  inscribed  by  Burns  in  a 
copy  of  Fergusson  now  in  the  Free  Library, 
Edinburgh.] 


Ah,  woe  is  me,  my  Mother  dear ! 

A  man  of  strife  ye  Ve  born  me  : 
For  sair  contention  I  maun  bear ; 

They  hate,  revile,  and  scorn  me. 


II. 

I  ne'er  could  lend  on  bill  or  band, 
That  five  per  cent,  might  blest  me ; 

And  borrowing,  on  the  tither  hand. 
The  deil  a  ane  wad  trust  me. 


III. 

Yet  I,  a  coin-denyed  wight, 
By  Fortune  quite  discarded, 

Ye  see  how  I  am  day  and  night 
By  lad  and  lass  blackguarded  ! 


INSCRIBED    ON    A    WORK   OF 
HANNAH   MORE'S 

PRESENTED  TO  THE  AUTHOR  BY  A 
LADY. 

[This  lady  has  not  been  identified.] 

Thou    flatt'ring   mark  of  friendship 

kind, 
Still  may  thy  pages  call  to  mind 

The  dear,  the  beauteous  donor  ! 
Tho'  sweetly  female  ev'ry  part. 
Yet  such   a   head  and  —  more  —  the 
heart 
Does  both  the  sexes  honor : 
She  show'd  her  taste  refin'd  and  just, 

When  she  selected  thee. 
Yet  deviating,  own  I  must. 
For  so  approving  me  : 

But,  kind  still,  I  mind  still 

The  giver  in  the  gift ; 
I  '11  bless  her,  and  wiss  her 
A  Friend  aboon  the  lift. 


LINES  WRITTEN  ON  A  BANK 
NOTE. 

[The  verses  were  written  on  a  Bank  of 
Scotland  one-pound  note  of  the  date  of 
March  i,  1780.] 

Wae  worth  thy  power,  thou  cursed 

leaf! 
Fell  source  of  a'  my  woe  and  grief. 
For  lack  o'  thee  I  've  lost  my  lass, 
For  lack  o'  thee  I  scrimp  my  glass! 
I  see  the  children  of  affliction 
Unaided,  through  thy  curs'd  restric- 
tion. 
I  've  seen  the  oppressor's  cruel  smile 
Amid  his  hapless  victims'  spoil ; 
And  for  thy  potence  vainly  wish'd 
To  crush  the  villain  in  the  dust. 
For  lack  o'  thee  I   leave  this  much- 

lov'd  shore. 
Never,  perhaps,  to  greet  old  Scotland 
more. 

R.  B. 
Kyle. 


192 


THE   FAREWELL.  —  WHOSE  IS  THAT  NOBLE. 


THE   FAREWELL. 

The  valiant,  in  himself,  what  can  he  suffer  ? 
Or  what  does  he  regard  his  single  woes  ? 
But  when,  alas  /  he  multiplies  himself. 
To  dearer  selves,  to  the  lov'd  tender  fair, 
To  those  whose  bliss,  whose  beings  hang  upon 

him. 
To  helpless  childre7i,  —  then,    Oh  then   he 

feels 
The  point  of  misery  festering  in  his  heart. 
And  weakly  weeps  his  fortunes  like  a  cow- 
ard : 
Such,  such  am  I !  —  undone/ 
—  Thomson's  "  Edward  and  Eleanora." 

["  The  Farewell "  was  written  in  August, 
1786,  when  the  idea  of  emigration  was 
firmly  fixed  in  the  poet's  mind.] 


Farewell,  old   Scotia's   bleak   do- 
mains, 
Far  dearer  than  the  torrid  plains, 

Where  rich  ananas  blow  ! 
Farewell,  a  mother's  blessing  dear 
A  brother's  sigh,  a  sister's  tear, 

My  Jean's  heart-rending  throe  ! 
Farewell,    my   Bess  !      Tho'   thou  'rt 
bereft 
Of  my  paternal  care, 
A  faithful  brother  I  have  left. 
My  part  in  him  thou  ""It  share  ! 
Adieu  too-,  to  you  too, 

My  Smith,  my  bosom  frien' ; 
When  kindly  you  mind  me, 
O,  then  befriend  my  Jean  ! 

II. 

What    bursting     anguish    tears    my 

heart  ? 
From  thee,  my  Jeany,  must  I  part  ? 

Thou,  weeping,  answVest :   '  No  ! ' 
Alas  !  misfortune  stares  my  face, 
And  points  to  ruin  and  disgrace  — 

I  for  thy  sake  must  go  ! 
Thee,  Hamilton,  and  Aiken  dear, 

A  grateful,  warm  adieu  : 
I  with  a  much-indebted  tear 

Shall  still  remember  you  ! 


All-hail,  then,  the  gale  then 

Wafts  me  from  thee,  dear  shore  ! 

It  rustles,  and  whistles  — 
I  'U  never  see  thee  more  ! 


ELEGY    ON    THE    DEATH    OF 
ROBERT   RUISSEAUX. 

["Ruisseaux"  —  French  for  "brooks" 
{i.e.,  "burns") — is  a  play  on  the  poet's 
name.] 

I. 

Now  Robin  lies  in  his  last  lair. 

He  '11  gabble    rhyme,   nor  sing   nae 

mair ; 
Cauld  Poverty  wi'  hungry  stare 

Nae  mair  shall  fear  him  ; 
Nor  anxious  Fear,  nor  cankert  Care, 

E'er  mair  come  near  him- 

II. 

To  tell  the  truth,  they  seldom  fash'd 

him. 
Except  the  moment  that  they  crush'd 

him  ; 
For  sune  as  Chance  or  Fate  had  hush'd 
'em, 

Tho'  e'er  sae  short. 
Then  wi'  a  rhyme  or  sang  he  lash'd  'em. 
And  thought  it  sport. 

III. 

Tho'  he  was  bred  to  kintra-wark, 
And  counted  was  baith  wight  and  stark. 
Yet  that  was  never  Robin's  mark 

To  mak  a  man  ; 
But  tell  him  he  was  learned  and  dark. 

Ye  roos'd  him  than! 


VERSES  INTENDED  TO  BE 
WRITTEN  BELOW  A  NOBLE 
EARL'S    PICTURE. 

[A  special  compliment  to  the  poet's  patron, 
the  Earl  of  Glencairn,  who  declined,  as  a 


ELEGY  ON  THE   DEATH   OF  SIR  JAMES   HUNTER  BLAIR.       193 


question  of  taste,  to  have  it  included  in  the 
'87  edition.] 


Whose  is  that  noble,  dauntless  brow? 

And  whose  that  eye  of  fire? 
And   whose   that   generous    princely 
mien, 

Ev'n  rooted  foes  admire? 


II. 

Stranger!  to  justly  show  that  brow 
And  mark  that  eye  of  fire, 

Would  take  His  hand,  whose  vernal 
tints 
His  other  works  admire! 


III. 

Bright  as  a  cloudless  summer  sun, 
With  stately  port  he  moves ; 

His  guardian  Seraph  eyes  with  awe 
The  noble  Ward  he  loves. 


rv. 

Among  the  illustrious  Scottish  sons 
That  Chief  thou  may''st  discern  : 

Mark  Scotia's  fond-returning  eye  — 
It  dwells  upon  Glencairn. 


ELEGY    ON    THE    DEATH    OF 
SIR  JAMES  HUNTER  BLAIR. 

[Sir  James  Hunter  Blair  was  a  public- 
spirited  citizen  of  Edinburgh,  the  promoter 
of  many  public  works,  and  was  created  a 
baronet  in  1786.] 


The  lamp  of  day  with  ill-presaging 
glare, 
Dim,    cloudy,    sank    beneath    the 
western  wave  : 
Th'  inconstant  blast  howPd  thro'  the 
darkening  air, 
And  hollow  whistled  in  the  rocky 
cave. 


n. 

Lone  as  I  wander'd  by  each  cliff  and 
dell. 
Once  the  lov'd  haunts  of  Scotia's 
royal  train  ; 
Or  mus'd  where  limpid  streams,  once 
hallow'd.  well. 
Or  mouldering  ruins  mark  the  sacred 
Fane. 

m. 

Th'  increasing  blast  roared  round  the 

beetling  rocks, 
The  clouds,  swift-wing'd,  flew  o'er 

the  starry  sky. 
The    groaning    trees    untimely    shed 

their  locks. 
And  shooting  meteors  caught  the 

startled  eye. 

rv. 

The  paly  moon  rose  in  the  livid  east. 
And  'mong:  the   cHffs   disclos'd   a 
stately  form 
In  weeds  of  woe,  that  frantic  beat  her 
breast, 
And  mix'd   her  wailings  with  the 
raving  storm. 


Wild  to  my  heart  the  filial  pulses  glow  : 
'T  was  Caledonia's  trophied  shield 
I  view'd. 
Her  form  majestic  droop'd  in  pensive 
woe. 
The  lightning  of  her  eye  in  tears 
imbued ; 

VI. 

Revers'd   that   spear   redoubtable  in 
war, 
Reclined  that  banner,  erst  in  fields 
unfurl'd. 
That  like  a  deathful  meteor  gleam'd 
afar. 
And  brav'd  the  mighty  monarchs 
of  the  world. 


194 


ON  THE   DEATH    OF   LORD  PRESIDENT  DUNDAS. 


VII. 

*My   patriot    son    fills    an    untimely 
grave ! ' 
With  accents  wild  and  lifted  arms, 
she  cried ; 
'  Low    lies    the    hand    that    oft   was 
stretch'd  to  save, 
Low  lies  the  heart  that  swelled  with 
honor's  pride. 

VIII. 

'  A  weeping  country  joins  a  widow's 
tear; 
The   helpless   poor  mix  with   the 
orphan's  cry  ; 
The    drooping   Arts   surround    their 
patron's  bier; 
And   grateful   Science   heaves   the 
heart-felt  sigh. 

IX. 

*I  saw  my  sons  resume  their  ancient 
fire ; 
I  saw  fair  Freedom's  blossoms  richly 
blow. 
But  ah !  how  hope  is  born  but  to  expire! 
Relentless  fate  has  laid  their  guar- 
dian low. 


*My  patriot  falls,  but  shall  he  lie  un- 
sung, 
While    empty   greatness    saves    a 
worthless  name? 
No  :  every  Muse  shall  join  her  tuneful 
tongue, 
And  future  ages  hear  his  growing 
fame. 

XI. 

^  And  I  will  join  a  mother's  tender  cares 
Thro'  future  times  to  make  his  vir- 
tues last, 
That  distant  years  may  boast  of  other 
Blairs!'  — 
She   said,   and   vanish'd  with   the 
sweeping  blast. 


ON     THE     DEATH     OF    LORD 
PRESIDENT   DUNDAS. 

[Burns  composed  this  elegy  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  Mr.  Charles  Hay,  advocate,  after- 
wards elevated  to  the  bench  under  the  de- 
signation of  Lord  Newton.  The  son  of  the 
Lord  President,  to  whom  the  poem  was 
sent,  "  never  took  the  smallest  notice  of  the 
letter,  the  poem,  or  the  poet,"  and  Burns's 
pride  received  an  incurable  wound.] 

Lone  on  the  bleaky  hills,  the  straying 
flocks 

Shun  the  fierce  storms  among  the 
sheltering  rocks ; 

Down  foam  the  rivulets,  red  with 
dashing  rains ; 

The  gathering  floods  burst  o'er  the 
distant  plains  ; 

Beneath  the  blast  the  leafless  forests 
groan ; 

The  hollow  caves  return  a  hollow 
moan. 

Ye  hills,  ye  plains,  ye  forests,  and  ye 
caves. 

Ye  howling  winds,  and  wintry  swell- 
ing waves. 

Unheard,  unseen,  by  human  ear  or 
eye. 

Sad  to  your  sympathetic  glooms  I  fly, 

Where  to  the  whistling  blast  and 
water's  roar 

Pale  Scotia's  recent  wound  I  may  de- 
plore ! 

O  heavy  loss,  thy  country  ill  could 
bear! 

A  loss  these  evil  days  can  ne'er  re- 
pair ! 

Justice,  the  high  vicegerent  of  her 
God, 

Her  doubtful  balance  eyed,  and  sway'd 
her  rod  ; 

Hearing  the  tidings  of  the  fatal  blow, 

She  sank,  abandon'd  to  the  wildest 
woe. 

Wrongs,  injuries,  from  many  a  dark- 
some den, 

Now  gay  in  hope  explore  the  paths 
of  men. 


ELEGY  ON   WILLIE  NICOL'S   MARE.  — LINES  ON   FERGUSSON.     195 


See  from  his  cavern  grim  Oppression 

rise, 
And  throw  on  Poverty  his  cruel  eyes! 
Keen  on  the  helpless  victim  let  him 

fly, 

And  stifle,  dark,  the  feebly-bursting 

cry! 
Mark  Ruffian  Violence,  distained  with 

crimes. 
Rousing    elate   in   these    degenerate 

times! 
View  unsuspecting  Innocence  a  prey, 
As  guileful  Fraud  points  out  the  err- 
ing way  ; 
While     subtile     Litigation's     pliant 

tongue 
The  life-blood  equal  sucks  of  Right 

and  Wrong! 
Hark,  injured  Want  recounts  th'  un- 

listen'd  tale. 
And  much-wrong'd  Mis'ry  pours  th' 
.    unpitied  w^ail! 

Ye  dark,  waste  hills,  ye  brown,  un- 
sightly plains, 

Congenial  scenes,  ye  soothe  my 
mournful  strains. 

Ye  tempests,  rage!  ye  turbid  torrents, 
roll ! 

Ye  suit  the  joyless  tenor  of  my  soul. 

Life's  social  haunts  and  pleasures  I 
resign ; 

Be  nameless  wilds  and  lonely  wander- 
ings mine, 

"io  mourn  the  w^oes  my  country  must 
endure : 

That  wound  degenerate  ages  cannot 
cure. 


ELEGY    ON    WILLIE    NICOL'S 
MARE. 

[The  mare,  which  was  named  after  the 
insane  woman  who  attempted  the  life  of 
George  III.,  was  the  property  of  Burns's 
friend,  Mr.  WilHam  Nicol.] 

I. 

Peg    Nicholson  •  was    a  good  bay 
mare 
As  ever  trod  on  airn ; 


But  now  she 's  floating  down  the  Nith, 
And  past  the  mouth  o'  Cairn. 


II. 


Peg  Nicholson  was  a  good  bay  mare, 
An'  rode  thro'  thick  an'  thin  ; 

But  now  she  's  floating  down  the  Nith, 
And  wanting  even  the  skin. 


III. 


Peg  Nicholson  was  a  good  bay  mare, 
And  ance  she  bore  a  priest ; 

B\it  now  she 's  floating  down  the  Nith, 
For  Solway  fish  a  feast. 


IV. 


Peg  Nicholson  was  a  good  bay  mare 
An'  the  priest  he  rode  her  sair ; 

And  much  oppress'd,  and  bruis'd  she 
was. 
As  priest-rid  cattle  are. 


LINES    ON   FERGUSSON. 

[Inscribed  in  a   copy  of  the  "World." 
(Chambers) .] 

I. 

Ill-fated    genius  I     Heaven-taught 
Fergusson  ! 
What  heart  that  feels,  and  will  not 
yield  a  tear 
To  think  Life's  sun  did  set,  e'er  well 
begun 
To  shed  its  influence  on  thy  bright 


career 


II. 


O,    why  should    trues c    Worth    and 
Genius  pine 
Beneath   the   iron   grasp  of  Want 
and  Woe, 
While  titled  knaves  and  idiot-great- 
ness shine 
In  all  the  splendour  Fortune  can 
bestow  ? 


196        ELEGY  ON  MISS  BURNET.  —  PEGASUS  AT  WANLOCKHEAD. 


ELEGY   ON    THE    LATE    MISS 
BURNET   OF   MONBODDO. 

[Elizabeth  Burnet,  the  "fair  Burnet "  of 
the  "Address  to  Edinburgh,"  was  the 
younger  daughter  of  James  Burnet,  Lord 
Monboddo.  Burns  was  a  frequent  visitor 
to  Alonboddo's  house  in  1786-7,  and  almost 
worshipped  the  fair  hostess.] 

I. 

Life  ne'er  exulted  in  so  rich  a  prize 
As    Burnet,   lovely   from   her   native 

skies ; 
Nor  envious  Death  so  triumph'd  in  a 

blow 
As  that  which  laid  th'  accomplished 

Burnet  low. 


II. 

Thy  form  and  mind,  sweet  maid,  can 

I  forget? 
In  richest  ore  the  brightest  jewel  set! 
In  thee  high  Heaven  above  was  truest 

shown, 
For  by  His  noblest  work  the  Godhead 

best  is  known. 


III. 

In  vain  ye  flaunt  in  summer's  pride, 
ye  groves  ! 
Thou    crystal '  streamlet   with    thy 
flowery  shore, 
Ye  woodland  choir  that  chaunt  your 
idle  loves, 
Ye  cease  to   charm :    Eliza   is   no 
more. 

TV. 

Ye  heathy  wastes  immix'd  with  reedy 
fens, 
Ye  mossy  streams  with  sedge  and 
rushes  stor'd, 
Ye   rugged   cliifs  o'erhanging  dreary 
glens, 
To   you   I    fly :    ye   with   my  soul 
accord. 


V. 

Princes  whose  cumb'rous   pride  was 
all  their  worth. 
Shall  venal  lays  their  pompous  exit 
hail, 
And  thou,  sweet  Excellence  !  forsake 
our  earth. 
And  not  a  Muse  with  honest  grief 
bewail  ? 

VI. 

We   saw   thee   shine  in    youth    and 
beauty's  pride 
And  Virtue's  light,  that  beams  be- 
yond the  spheres ; 
But,  like  the  sun  eclips'd  at  morning 
tide. 
Thou  left  us  darkling  in  a  world  of 
tears. 

VII. 

The  parent's  heart  that  nestled  fond 
in  thee. 
That   heart   how   sunk,  a  prey  to 
grief  and  care  ! 
So  deckt  the  woodbine  sweet  yon  aged 
tree. 
So,  rudely  ravish'd,  left  it  bleak  and 
bare. 


PEGASUS  AT  WANLOCK- 
HEAD. 

[Written  in  Ramage's  Inn,  while  the 
poet's  horse's  shoes  were  frosting.  For 
thirty  years  afterwards  it  was  said  Vulcan 
was  in  the  habit  of  boasting  that  he  had 
"  never  been  weel  paid  but  ance,  and  that 
was  by  a  poet,  who  paid  him  in  money, 
paid  him  in  drink,  and  paid  him  in  verse."] 


I. 

With  Pegasus  upon  a  day 

Apollo,  weary  flying 
(Through  frosty  hills  the  journey  lay), 

On  foot  the  way  was  plying. 


ON   GENERAL  DUMOURIER'S   DESERTION. 


197 


II. 


Poor  slip-shod,  giddy  Pegasus 
Was  but  a  sorry  walker ; 

To  Vulcan  then  Apollo  goes 
To  get  a  frosty  caulker. 


III. 


Obliging  Vulcan  fell  to  work, 
Threw  by  his  coat  and  bonnet, 

And  did  SoPs  business  in  a  crack 
Sol  paid  him  in  a  sonnet. 


IV. 


Ye  Vulcan's  sons  of  Wanlockhead, 

Pity  my  sad  disaster  ! 
My  Pegasus  is  poorly  shod  — 

I  '11  pay  you  like  my  master  ! 
Ramage's,  3  o'clock. 


ON   SOME  COMMEMORATIONS 
OF   THOMSON. 

[Thomson,  among  other  pieces  of  patron- 
age, drew  the  salary  of  Surveyor-General  of 
the  Leewiird  Islands,  and  had  a  pension. 
Thomson  did  not  "climb  the  brae  helpless 
and  alane,"  quite  the  reverse. — ANDREW 
Lang.] 

I. 

Dost  thou  not  rise,  indignant  Shade, 
And  smile  wi'  spurning  scorn 

When  they  wha  wad  hae  starved  thy 
life 
Thy  senseless  turf  adorn  ? 

II. 

They  wha  about  thee  mak  sic  fuss 

Now  thou  art  but  a  name. 
Wad  seen  thee  damn'd  ere  they  had 
spar'd 

Ae  plack  to  fill  thy  wame. 

III. 

Helpless,  alane,  thou  clamb  the  brae 

Wi'  meikle  honest  toil,. 
Andclauchtth'  unfading  garland  there, 

Thy  sair-won,  rightful  spoil. 


IV. 


And  wear  it  there  !  and  call  aloud 
This  axiom  undoubted  :  — 

Would  thou  hae  Nobles'  patronage? 
First  learn  to  live  without  it ! 


V. 

'To  whom  hae  much,  more  shall  be 
given ' 

Is  every  great  man's  faith  ; 
But  he,  the  helpless,  needful  wretch, 

Shall  lose  the  mite  he  hath. 


ON     GENERAL    DUMOURIER'S 
DESERTION 

FROM  THE  FRENCH  REPUBLICAN 
ARMY. 

[Burns  chanted  these  verses  on  hearing 
some  one  express  his  joy  at  General  Du- 
mourier's  defection  from  the  service  of  the 
French  RepubUc.J 

I. 

You  're  welcome  to  Despots, 

Dumourier! 
You  're  welcome  to  Despots, 
Dumourier! 
How  does  Dampiere  do? 
Ay,  and  Bournonville  too? 
Why  did  they  not  come  along  with 
you, 

Dumourier .'' 


II. 

I  will  fight  France  with  you, 
Duinourier, 

I  wall  fight  France  with  you, 
Dumourier ; 

I  will  fight  France  with  you, 

I  will  take  my  chance  with  you. 
By  my  soul,  I  'II  dance  with  you, 
Dumourier  ' 


I9S        ON   JOHN   M'MURDO.  — ON    MRS.    RIDDELL'S   BIRTHDAY. 


III. 

Then  let  us  fight  about, 
Duniourier  ! 

Then  let  us  fight  about, 
Dumourier  ! 

Then  let  us  fight  about 

Till  Freedom's  spark  be  out, 
Then  we  '11  be  damn'd,  no  doubt, 
Dumourier. 


ON   JOHN   M'MURDO. 

[Cunningham  states  that  the  verses  "  ac- 
companied a  present  of  books  or  verse," 
and  that  afterwards  Burns  wrote  them  on  a 
window-pane  witli  a  diamond.] 

Blest  be  M'Murdo  to  his  latest  day! 
No  envious  cloud  o'ercast  his  evening 

ray  ! 
No  wrinkle  furrow'd  by  the  hand  of 

care, 
Nor    ever    sorrow,    add    one    silver 

hair  ! 
O   may    no    son   the    father's    honor 

stain. 
Nor  ever  daughter  give  the  mother 

pain ! 


ON  HEARING  A  THRUSH  SING 
IN  A  MORNING  WALK  IN 
JANUARY. 

[Burns  dealt  httle  in  sonnets ;  this  example 
breaks  every  former  rule  except  that  which 
restricts  the  number  of  lines  to  fourteen,] 

Sing  on,  sweet  thrush,  upon  the  leaf- 
less bough, 

Sing  on,  sweet  bird,  I  listen  to  thy 
strain  : 

See  aged  Winter,  'mid  his  surly 
reign, 

At  thy  blythe  carol  clears  his  fur- 
rowed brow\ 

So  in  lone  Poverty's  dominion  drear 

Sits  meek  Content  with  light,  un- 
anxious  heart, 


Welcomes  the  rapid  moments,  bids 

them  part, 
Nor  asks  if  they  bring  ought  to  hope 

or  fear. 
I  thank  Thee,  Author  of  this  opening 

day. 
Thou   whose    bright   sun   now   gilds 

yon  orient  skies! 
Riches  denied,  Thy  boon  was  purer 

joys : 
What  wealth  could   never  give    nor 

take  away  ! 
Yet  come,  thou  child  of  Poverty  and 

Care, 
The  mite  high  Heav'n  bestow'd,  that 

mite  with  thee  I  '11  share. 


IMPROMPTU     ON     MRS.     RID- 
DELL'S   BIRTHDAY, 

4TH   NOVEMBER    1 793- 

[Mrs.  Walter  Riddell,  whose  maiden 
name  was  Maria  Woodley,  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  William  Woodley,  Commander  and 
Governor  of  St.  Kitts  and  the  Leeward 
Islands.] 

I. 

Old  Winter,  with  his  frosty  beard, 

Thus  once  to  Jove  his  prayer  pre- 
ferred :  — 

'  What  have  I  done  of  all  the  year, 

To  bear  this  hated  doom  severe? 

My  cheerless  suns  no  pleasure  know ; 

Night's  horrid  car  drags  dreary  slow  ; 

My  dismal  months  no  joys  are  crown- 
ing. 

But  spleeny,  English  hanging,  drown- 


niof. 


II. 


Now  Jove,  for  once  be  mighty  civil : 
To  counterbalance  all  this  evil 
Give  me,  and  I  've  no  more  to  say, 
Give  me  Maria's  natal  day  ! 
That  brilliant  gift  shall  so  enrich  me, 
Spring,    Summer,    Autumn,     cannot 
match  me.' 


ON  THE   DEATH   OF   ROBT.   RIDDELL.  —  GRIZZEL   GRIMME. 


199 


•T  is  done  ! '  says  Jove  ;  so  ends  my 

story, 
And  Winter  once  rejoiced  in  glory. 


SONNET  ON  THE  DEATH  OF 
ROBERT  RIDDELL  OF  GLEN- 
RIDDELL. 

[Burns  liad  offended  the  Riddells  by 
lampooning  Mrs.  Walter  Riddell ;  and  "the 
worthy  Glenriddell,  deep  read  in  old  coins," 
fell  out  with  the  poet  of  the  "  Whistle,"  and 
he  died  unreconciled  to  his  friend,  who,  re- 
membering only  his  worth  and  former  kind- 
ness, immediately  penned  an  elegiac  sonnet 
on  the  event.] 

No  more,  ye  warblers  of  the  wood, 

no  more, 
Nor  pour  your  descant  grating  on  my 

soul ! 
Thou  young-eyed  Spring,  gay  in  thy 

verdant  stole, 
More    welcome    were    to    me    grim 

Winters  wildest  roar  ! 
How  can  ye  charm,  ye  flowers,  with 

all  your  dyes  ? 
Ye  blow  upon  the  sod  that  wraps  my 

friend. 
How  can  I  to  the  tuneful  strain  at- 
tend ? 
That  strain  flows  round  the  untimely 

tomb  where  Riddell  lies. 
Yes,  pour,  ye  warblers,  pour  the  notes 

of  woe, 
And  sooth  the  Virtues  weeping  o'er 

his  bier ! 
The  man  of  worth — and  'hath  not 

left  his  peer ' !  — 
Is   in    his    '  narrow   house '   for    ever 

darkly  low. 
Thee,   Spring,   again   with  joy  shall 

others  greet ; 
Me,    memory   of   my   loss    will   only 

meet. 


A   SONNET   UPON  SONNETS. 

[First  published  in  the  Centenary  edition, 
which  says :  "  We  have  done  our  utmost  to 
determine  whether  this   copy  of  verses  be 


very  Burns,  or  merely  a  copy  in  Burns's 
handwriting.  It  seems  to  be  unknown,  and 
we  have  assumed  that  it  is  one  of  his  few 
metrical  experiments.] 

Fourteen,  a   sonneteer   thy  praises 

sings  ; 
What  magic  myst'vies  in  that  number 

lie! 
Your  hen  hath  fourteen  eggs  beneath 

her  wings 
That  fourteen  chickens  to  the  roost 

may  fly. 
Fourteen    full    pounds    the   jockey's 

stone  must  be ; 
His  age  fourteen  —  a  horse's  prime  is 

past. 
Fourteen  long  hours  too  oft  the  Bard 

must  fast ; 
Fourteen  bright  bumpers  —  bliss  he 

ne'er  must  see  ! 
Before  fourteen,  a  dozen  yields  the 

strife  ; 
Before     fourteen  —  e'en     thirteen's 

strength  is  vain. 
Fourteen     good     years  —  a    woman 

gives  us  life ; 
Fourteen  good  men  —  we   lose   that 

life  again. 
What  lucubrations  can  be  more  upon 

it? 
Fourteen  good  measured  verses  make 

a  sonnet. 


GRIZZEL    GRIMME. 

[This  piece  is  published  in  the  "  Notes  " 
of  the  Centenary  edition,  with  the  following 
comment:  "This  piece  came  into  our 
hands  too  late  for  insertion  among  the 
'  Miscellanies.'  But  it  is  plainly  Burns,  the 
artist  in  folk-song,  and  —  save  for  a  false 
(eighteenth  century)  note  or  two  in  the 
first  half  of  stanza  iii  —  that  Burns  by  no 
means  at  his  worst;  it  is  racy,  rank,  even, 
of  the  rustic  earth ;  and  we  have  pleasure 
in  giving  it  in  this  Note."] 

Grim  Grizzel  was  a  mighty  Dame 
Weel  kend  on  Cluden-side  : 

Grim  Grizzel  was  a  mighty  Dame 
O'  meikle  fame  and  pride. 


20O 


GRIZZEL  GRIMME. 


When  gentles  met  in  gentle  bowers 

And  nobles  in  the  ha', 
Grim  Grizzel  was  a  mighty  Dame, 

The  loudest  o'  them  a'. 

Where  lawless  Riot  rag'd  the  night 
And  Beauty  durst  na  gang, 

Grim  Grizzel  was  a  mighty  Dame, 
Wham  nae  man  e'er  wad  wrang. 

Nor  had  Grim  Grizzel  skill  alane 
What  bower  and  ha'  require  ; 

But  she  had  skill,  and  meikle  skill. 
In  barn  and  eke  in  byre. 

Ae  day  Grim  Grizzel  walked  forth, 

As  she  was  wont  to  do, 
Alang  the  banks  o'  Cluden  fair, 

Her  cattle  for  to  view. 

The  cattle  sh  .   .   .  o'er  hill  and  dale 

As  cattle  will  incline. 
And  sair   it   grieved  Grim   Grizzel's 
heart 

Sae  meikle  muck  to  tine. 

And  she  has  ca'd  on  John  o'  Clods, 
Of  her  herdsmen  the  chief, 

And  she  has  ca'd  on  John  o'  Clods! 
And  teird  him  a'  her  grief:  — 

<Now  wae  betide  thee,  John  o'  Clods! 

I  gie  thee  meaJ  and  fee. 
And  yet  sae  muckle  muck  ye  tine 

Might  a'  be  gear  to  me  ! 

^  Ye  claut  my  byre,  ye  sweep  my  byre, 

The  like  was  never  seen  ; 
The  very  chamber  I  lie  in 

Was  never  half  sae  clean. 

'  Ye  ca'  my  kye  adown  the  loan 
And  there  they  a'  discharge  : 

My  Tammie's  hat,  wig,  head  and  a' 
Was  never  half  sae  large  ! 

'But  mind  my  words   now,  John  o' 
Clods, 
And  tent  me  what  I  say  : 


My  kye  shall  sh  .  .  .  ere  they  gae  out, 
That  shall  they  ilka  day. 

'And  mind  my  words  now,  John  o' 
Clods, 

And  tent  now  wha  ye  serve ; 
Or  back  ye  'se  to  the  Colonel  gang, 

Either  to  steal  or  starve.' 

Then  John  o'  Clods  he  looked  up 
And  syne  he  looked  down  ; 

He  looked  east,  he  looked  west, 
He  looked  roun'  and  roun'. 

His  bonnet  and  his  rowantree  club 

Frae  either  hand  did  fa' ; 
Wi'  lifted  een  and  open  mouth 

He  naething  said  at  a'. 

At    length   he   found   his   trembling 
tongue, 

Within  his  mouth  was  fauld  :  — 
'  Ae  silly  word  frae  me,  madam, 

Gin  I  daur  be  sae  bauld. 

'  Your  kye  will  at  nae  bidding  sh  .  .  ., 

Let  me  do  what  I  can ; 
Your  kye  will  at  nae  bidding  sh  .   .   . 

Of  onie  earthly  man. 

'  Tho'  ye  are  great  Lady  Glaur-hole, 

For  a'  your  power  and  art 
Tho'  ye  are  great  Lady  Glaur-hole, 

They  winna  let  a  fart.' 

'  Now  wae  betide  thee,  John  o'  Clods! 

An  ill  death  may  ye  die! 
My  kye  shall  at  my  bidding  sh  .  .  ., 

And  that  ye  soon  shall  see.' 

Then  she  's  ta'en  Hawkie  by  the  tail. 
And  wrung  wi'  might  and  main. 

Till  Hawkie  rowted  through  the  woods 
Wi'  agonising  pain. 

'Sh  .   .   .,   sh  .  .   .,  ye   bitch,'   Grim 
Grizzel  roar'd. 
Till  hill  and  valley  rang; 
'And  sh  .   .   .,  ye  bitch,'  the  echoes 
roar'd 
Lincluden  wa's  amang. 


TRAGIC   FRAGMENT.  —  REMORSE. 


20  ! 


FRAGMENTS. 
TRAGIC   FRAGMENT. 


[Assigned  by  Burns  to  his  eighteenth  or 
nineteenth  year.  Much  later  in  life  he  con- 
templated a  drama  on  an  adventure  ol  Rob- 
ert Bruce.] 

All    villain    as    I    am  —  a   damned 
wretch, 

A    hardened,   stubborn,   unrepenting 
sinner  — 

Still  my  heart  melts  at  human  wretch- 
edness. 

And   with    sincere,    tho'    unavailing, 
sighs 

I  view  the  helpless  children  of  dis- 
tress. 

With  tears  indignant  I  behold  the  op- 
pressor 

Rejoicing  in  the  honest  man's  destruc- 
tion. 

Whose  unsubmitting  heart  was  all  his 
crime. 

Ev'n  you,  ye   hapless    crew!    I    pity 
you ! 

Ye,  whom  the  seeming  good  think  sin 
to  pity : 

Ye  poor,  despised,  abandoned  vaga- 
bonds. 

Whom  Vice,  as  usual,  has  tum'd  o'er 
to  ruin. 

Oh!   but  for  friends  and  interposing 
Heaven, 

I  had  been  driven  forth,  like  you  for- 
lorn, 

The  most  detested,  w^orthless  wretch 
among  you ; 

O  injured    God!    Thy  goodness   has 
endow'd  me 

With  talents  passing  most  of  my  com- 
peers, 

W^hich    I    in  just    proportion    have 
abused, 

As  far  surpassing  other  common  vil- 
lains 

As  Thou  in  natural  parts  has  given  me 
more. 


REMORSE. 


["  Remorse  is  the  most  painful  sentiment 
that  can  imbitter  the  human  bosom."  (R.  B.) 
"  As  early  as  1783.  The  fragment,  of  course, 
is  dramatic,  and  not  personal."  —  ANDREW 
Lang.] 

Of  all  the  numerous  ills  that  hurt  our 
peace, 

That  press  the  soul,  or  wring  the  mind 
with  anguish. 

Beyond  comparison  the  worst  are  those 

By  our  own  folly,  Or  our  guilt  brought 
on  : 

In  evVy  other  circumstance,  the  mind 

Has  this  to  say  :  —  'It  was  no  deed  of 
mine.' 

But,  when  to  all  the  evil  of  misfor- 
tune 

This  sting  is  added  :  — '  Blame  thy 
foolish  self ! ' 

Or,  worser  far,  the  pangs  of  keen  re- 
morse. 

The  torturing,  gnawing  consciousness 
of  guilt, 

Of  guilt,  perhaps,  where  we  've  involved 
others, 

The  young,  the  innocent,  who  fondly 
lov"d  us  ; 

Nay,  more,  that  very  love  their  cause 
of  ruin ! 

O  burning  Hell!  in  all  thy  store  of 
torments 

There's  not  a  keener  lash! 

Lives  there  a  man  so  firm,  who,  while 
his  heart 

Feels  all  the  bitter  horrors  of  his 
crime. 

Can  reason  down  its  agonizing 
throbs, 

And,  after  proper  purpose  of  amend- 
ment. 

Can  firmly  force  his  jarring  thoughts 
to  peace? 

O  happy,  happy,  enviable  man! 

O  glorious  magnanimity  of  soul! 


202      RUSTICITY'S  UNGAINLY   FORM.  — SKETCH   FOR  AN   ELEGY. 


RUSTICITY\S   UNGAINLY 
FORM. 

["  The  '  sensible '  one  Burns  grieves  for 
was  the  unlucky  Miss  Kennedy."  —  AN- 
DREW Lang.J 


Rusticity's  ungainly  form 
May  cloud  the  highest  mind  ; 

But  when  the  heart  is  nobly  warm, 
The  good  excuse  will  find. 

II. 

Propriety's  cold,  cautious  rules 
Warm  Fervour  may  overlook  ; 

But  spare  poor  Sensibility 
Th'  ungentle,  harsh  rebuke. 


ON  WILLIAM   CREECH. 

[Sent  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  Oct.  23,  178S,  with 
the  fragment  on  William  Smellie.  "  These," 
wrote  Burns,  "  are  embryotic  fragments  of 
what  may  one  day  be  a  poem."] 

A  LITTLE  upright,  pert,  tart,  tripping 

wight. 
And   still  his  precious  self  his  dear 

delight ; 
Who  loves  his  own  smart  shadow  in 

the  streets 
Better  than  e'er  the  fairest   She  he 

meets. 
Much  specious  lore,  but  little  under- 
stood 
(Veneering   oft   outshines    the   solid 

wood). 
His  solid  sense  by  inches  you  must 

tell, 
But  meet  his  subtle  cunning  by  the  ell ! 
A  man  of  fashion,  too,  he  made  his 

tour, 
Learn  d    '  Vive   la   bagatelle    et   vive 

Pamour ' : 
So   traveird    monkies    their   grimace 

improve, 
Polish    their    grin  —  nay,    sigh    for 

ladies'  love! 


His  meddling  vanity,  a  busy  fiend. 
Still    making  work    his   selfish   craft 
must  mend. 


ON   WILLIAM    SMELLIE. 

[Author  of  the  "  Philosophy  of  Natural 
History,"  and  member  of  the  Antiquarian 
and  Royal  Societies  of  Edinburgh.] 

Crochallan  came  : 
The  old  cock'd  hat,  the  brown  surtout 

the  same ; 
His  grisly  beard  just  bristling  in  its 

might 
('T  was  four  long  nights  and  days  to 

shaving-night)  ; 
His  uncomb'd,  hoary  locks,  wild-star- 
ing, thatch'd 
A  head  for  thought  profound  and  clear 

unmatch'd  ; 
Yet,  tho'  his  caustic  wit  was  biting 

rude, 
His  heart  was  warm,  benevolent,  and 

good. 


SKETCH    FOR   AN   ELEGY. 

[Probably  the  original  form  of  ttie  elegy 
on  Captain  Matthew  Henderson,  althougli 
his  name  is  not  mentioned.] 


Craigdarroch,  fam'd   for  speaking 

art 
And  every  virtue  of  the  heart. 
Stops  short,  nor  can  a  word  impart 

To  end  his  sentence. 
When  mem'ry  strikes  him  like  a  dart 

With  auld  acquaintance. 

II. 

Black  James  —  whase  wit  was  never 

laith, 
But,  like  a  sword  had  tint  the  sheath. 
Ay  ready  for  the  work  o'  death  — 

He  turns  aside. 
And  strains  wi'  suffocating  breath 

His  grief  to  hide. 


PASSION'S   CRY. 


203 


III. 

Even  Philosophic  Smellie  tries 

To  choak  the  stream  that  floods  his 

eyes : 
So  Moses  wi'  a  hazel-rice 

Came  o'er  the  stane  ; 
But,  tho'  it  cost  him  speaking  twice, 

It  gush'd  amain. 

rv. 

Go  to  your  marble  graflfs,  ye  great. 
In  a'  the  tinkler-trash  of  state! 
But  by  thy  honest  turf  I  -11  wait. 

Thou  man  of  worth, 
And  weep  the  ae  best  fallow's  fate 

E'er  lay  in  earth ! 


PASSION'S   CRY. 

[This  Poem  was  inspired  by  a  famous 
divorce  case  which  was  tried  in  the  Court 
of  Session.] 

Mild  zephyrs  waft  thee  to  life's  far- 
thest shore, 

Nor  think  of  me  and  my  distresses 
more  ! 

Falsehood  accurst!  No!  Still  I  beg 
a  place, 

Still  near  thy  heart  some  little,  little 
trace! 

For  that  dear  trace  the  world  I  would 
resign  : 

O,  let  me  live,  and  die,  and  think  it 
mine! 

By  all  I  lov'd,  neglected  and  forgot, 
No  friendly  face  e'er  lights  my  squalid 

cot. 
Shunn'd,    hated,    wTong'd,   unpitied, 

unredrest 
The  mock'd  quotation  of  the  scorner's 

jest ; 
Ev'n  the  poor  support  of  my  wretched 

life, 
Snatched   by   the   violence   of    legal 

strife  ; 
Oft  grateful  for  my  very  daily  bread, 


To    those    my   family's    once    large 

bounty  fed ; 
A  welcome   inmate  at  their  homely 

fare. 
My  griefs,    my  woes,  my  sighs,   my 

tears  they  share  : 
Their  vulgar  souls  unlike  the  souls 

refined, 
The  fashion'd  marble  of  the  polish 'd 

mind. 

'I  burn,  I  burn,  as  when  thro'  ripen'd 

corn 
By  driving  winds  the  crackling  flames 

are  borne.' 
Now,   maddening-wild,   I   curse    that 

fatal  night, 
Now  bless  the  hour  that  charm'd  my 

guilty  sight. 
In  vain  the   Laws  their  feeble  force 

oppose : 
Chain'd  at  his  feet,  they  groan  Love's 

vanquish'd  foes. 
In  vain  Religion  meets  my  shrinking 

eye : 
I   dare  not  combat,  but  I   turn  and 

fly- 

Conscience  in  vain  upbraids  th'  un- 

hallow'd  fire. 
Love   grasps   his    scorpions  —  stifled 

they  expire. 
Reason    drops     headlong    from    his 

sacred  throne. 
Your   dear   idea   reigns,   and    reigns 

alone ; 
Each    thought    intoxicated    homage 

yields, 
And  riots  \yanton  in  forbidden  fields. 

By  all  on  high  adoring  mortals  know  ; 

By  all  the  conscious  villain  fears  be- 
low ; 

By  what,  alas!  much  more  my  soul 
alarms  — 

My  doubtful  hopes  once  more  to  fill 
thy  arms  — 

Ev'n  shouldst  thou,  false,  forswear  the 
guilty  tie. 

Thine  and  thine  only  I  must  live  and 
die! 


204 


IN   VAIN   WOULD   PRUDENCE.  — AT   ROSLIN   INN. 


IN   VAIN   WOULD  PRUDENCE. 

[These  verses  are  sometimes  included  in 
the  preceding  fragment,] 

In  vain  would  Prudence  with  decorous 

sneer 
Point  out  a  censuring  world,  and  bid 

me  fear : 
Above  that  world  on  wings  of  love  I 

rise, 
I  know  its  worst,  and  can  that  worst 

despise. 
'Wrong'd,  injured,  shunned,  unpitied, 

unredrest, 
The  mock'd  quotation  of  the  scorner's 

jest,' 
Let  Prudence'  direst   bodements  on 

me  fall, 
Clarinda,  rich  reward !  overpays  them 

all. 


THE   CARES   O'   LOVE. 

[Printed  for  the  first  time  in  the  Centen- 
ary edition,  from  the  Ms.  in  the  possession 
of  Mrs.  Andrews,  Newcastle.] 

HE. 

The  cares  o'  Love  are  sweeter  far 
Than  onie  other  pleasure  ; 

And  if  sae  dear  its  sorrows  are, 
Enjoyment,  what  a  treasure  ! 

SHE. 

I  fear  to  try,  I  dare  na  try 

A  passion  sae  ensnaring ; 
For  light 's   her   heart  and  blythe  's 
her  song 

That  for  nae  man  is  caring. 


EPIGRAMS. 


EXTEMPORE   IN   THE    COURT 
OF   SESSION. 

Tune  :  Killiecrankie. 

[The  oratorical  duel  was  between  Islay 
Campbell,  Lord  Advocate,  and  Henry 
Erskine,  Dean  of.  Faculty,  in  a  certain 
divorce  case.] 

LORD  ADVOCATE. 

He  clench'd  his  pamphlets  in  his  fist. 

He  quoted  and  he  hinted, 
Till  in  a  declamation-mist 

His  argument,  he  tint  it : 
He  gaped  for't,  he  graped  for't. 

He  fand  it  was  awa,  man  ; 
But  what   his   common   sense   came 
short. 

He  eked  out  wi'  law,  man. 

MR.    ERSKINE. 

Collected,  Harry  stood  awee. 
Then  open'd  out  his  arm,  man ; 


His  lordship  sat  wi'  ruefu'  e'e, 

And  ey'd  the  gathering  storm,  man  ; 

Like  wind-driv'n  hail  it  did  assail, 
Or  torrents  owre  a  linn,  man  ; 

The  Bench  sae  wise  lift  up  their  eyes, 
Hauf-wauken'd  wi'  the  din,  man. 


AT   ROSLIN   INN. 

[Chambers  states  that  Burns  breakfasted 
at  the  inn  after  a  ramble  in  the  Pentlands 
with  Alexander  Nasmyth,  the  painter.] 

My  blessings  on  ye,  honest  wife ! 

I  ne'er  was  here  before  ; 
Ye  've  wealth  o'  gear  for  spoon  and 
knife  : 

Heart  could  not  wish  for  more. 
Heav'n  keep  you  clear  o'  sturt  and 
strife. 

Till  far  ayont  fourscore. 
And  by  the  Lord  o'  death  and  life, 

1  '11  ne'er  gae  by  your  door  ! 


TO  AN   ARTIST.  — AT   INVERARAY. 


205 


TO   AN   ARTIST. 

[According  to  Chambers,  Burns  entering 
a  studio  in  Edinburgh,  found  the  occupant 
engaged  on  a  "  Jacob's  Dream,"  and  wrote 
the  Hnes  on  the  back  of  a  little  sketch.] 

Dear ,  I  '11  gie  ye  some  advice, 

You  '11  tak  it  no  uncivil : 
You  shouldna  paint  at  angels,  man, 

But  try  and  paint  the  Devil. 
To  paint  an  angel 's  kittle  wark, 

Wi'  Nick  there 's  little  danger  : 
You  "11  easy  draw  a  lang-kent  face, 


But  no  sae  vveel  a  stranger. 


R.  B. 


THE   BOOK-WORMS. 

[Said  to  have  been  written  on  a  splen- 
didly bound  but  worm-eaten  volume  of 
Shakespeare  in  a  nobleman's  library.] 

Through  and  through  th'  inspired 
leaves, 

Ye  maggots,  make  your  windings  ; 
But  O,  respect  his  lordship's  taste. 

And  spare  the  golden  bindings  ! 


ON    ELPHINSTONE'S    TRANS- 
LATION  OF   MARTIAL. 

[James  Elphinstone  —  born  1721,  died 
1809  —  published  his  egregious  translation 
of  Martial's  epigrams  in  1782.] 

O  THOU  whom  Poesy  abhors, 
Whom  Prose  has  turned  out  of  doors, 
Heard'st  thou  yon  groan  ?  —  Proceed 

no  further ! 
'T  was  laurel'd  Martial  calling  ^Mur- 

ther!' 


ON    JOHNSON'S     OPINION    OF 
HAMPDEN. 

[Inscribed  on  a  copy  of  Johnson's  "  Lives," 
presented  by  Burns  to  Alexander  Cunning- 
ham.] 

For  shame ! 
Let  Folly  and  Knavery 

Freedom  oppose  : 
'T  is  suicide,  Genius, 
To  mix  with  her  foes. 


UNDER  THE  PORTRAIT 
MISS  BURNS. 


OF 


[Miss  Burns  was  a  woman  of  ill  repute. 
She  was  in  Edinburgh  while  Burns  resided 
there  in  1786-87.] 

Cease,  ye  prudes,  your  envious  rail- 


me: 


Lovely   Burns    has   charms 
fess  ! 
True  it  is  she  had  ae  failing: 
Had  ae  woman  ever  less? 


con- 


ON  MISS  AINSLIE  IN  CHURCH. 

[Burns  wrote  these  lines  in  church,  in 
Miss  Ainslie's  Bible,  apropos  of  her  search 
for  a  text  against  the  impenitent  denoted  by 
the  preacher.] 

Fair   maid,  you   need   not  take  the 
hint, 

Nor  idle  texts  pursue  ; 
'T  was  guilty  sinners  that  he  meant, 

Not  angels  such  as  you. 


AT   INVERARAY. 

[This  epigram  is  supposed  to  have  been 
written  on  a  window-pane  of  the  inn  at 
Inveraray,  where  the  landlord  was  too  busy 


2o6 


AT  CARRON   IRONWORKS.  —  A  HIGHLAND   WELCOME. 


in  attendance  on  visitors  to  the  duke  to  pay 
proper  attention  to  the  poet  and  his  friend.] 

I. 

Whoe'er  he  be  that  sojourns  here, 

I  pity  much  his  case, 
Unless  he  come  to  wait  upon 

The  Lord  their  God,  '  His  Gr?ce.' 


II. 

There 's  naething  here  but  Highland 
pride 

And  Highland  scab  and  hunger: 
If  Providence  has  sent  me  here, 

'T  was  surely  in  an  anger. 


AT  CARRON   IRONWORKS. 

[Written   on   the   window  of  the  inn   at 
Carron,  and  signed  "  R.  B.,  Ayrshire,"] 

We  cam  na  here  to  view  your  warks 

In  hopes  to  be  mair  wise, 
But  only,  lest  we  gang  to  Hell, 

It  may  be  nae  surprise. 

But  when  we  tirPd  at  your  door 
Your  porter  dought  na  bear  us  : 

Sae  may,  should  we  to  HelPs  yetts 
come. 
Your  billie  Satan  sair  us. 


ON  SEEING  THE  ROYAL 
PALACE  AT  STIRLING  IN 
RUINS. 

[On  applying  for  a  place  in  the  excise, 
Burns  was  severely  questioned  in  regard  to 
this  epigram.] 

Here  Stewarts  once  in  glory  reign'd, 
And  laws  for  Scotland's  weal  ordain'd  ; 
But  now  unroof 'd  their  palace  stands, 
Their  sceptre  fallen  to  other  hands : 
Fallen  indeed,  and  to  the  earth, 
Whence  grovelling  reptiles  take  their 
birth! 


The  injured  Stewart  line  is  gone, 
A  race  outlandish  fills  their  throne  : 
An  idiot  race,  to  honour  lost  — 
Who  know  them  best  despise  them 
most. 


ADDITIONAL   LINES   AT 
STIRLING. 

[Cunningham  states  that  Burns,  on  being 
remonstrated  with  by  Nicol  on  his  return 
from  Harvieston,  added  this  mock  "  reproof 
to  the  author."] 

Rash   mortal,   and   slanderous  poet, 

thy  name 
Shall  no  longer  appear  in  the  records 

of  Fame  ! 
Dost  not   know  that  old  Mansfield, 

who  writes  like  the  Bible, 
Says,  the  more  H  is  a  truth,  Sir,  the 

more  't  is  a  libel  ? 


REPLY   TO  THE    THREAT   OF 
A   CENSORIOUS   CRITIC. 

[The  critic  was  a   Rev.   Mr.  Hamilton, 
minister  of  Gladsmuir,  East  Lothian.] 

With  ^sop's   lion.   Burns   says :  — 

'  Sore  I  feel 
Each    other    blow:    but   damn   that 

ass''s  heel ! ' 


A   HIGHLAND   WELCOME. 

[Composed  on  leaving  a  place  in  the 
Highlands,  where  he  had  been  kindly 
entertained.] 

When  Death's  dark  stream  I  ferry 
o'er 

(A  time  that  surely  shall  come), 
In  Heaven  itself  I  '11  ask  no  more 

Than  just  a  Highland  welcome. 


AT    WHIGHAM'S   INN.  — SEARCHING   AULD   WIVES'    BARRELS.     207 


AT     WHIGHAM'S      INN, 
QUHAR. 


SAN- 


[Inscribed  on  a  window-pane  of  the  inn. 
Whigham  became  provost  of  the  burgh.] 

Envy,  if  thy  jaundiced  eye 
Through  this  window  chance  to  spy, 
To  thy  sorrow  thou  shalt  find, 
All  that 's  generous,  all  that 's  kind. 
Friendship,  virtue,  every  grace, 
Dwelling  in  this  happy  place. 


VERSICLES    ON    SIGN-POSTS. 

["  The  everlasting  surliness  of  a  lion  and 
Saracen's  head,"  writes  Burns,  "  or  the  un- 
changing blandness  of  the  landlord  wel- 
coniing  a  traveller,  on  some  sign-posts, 
would  be  no  bad  similes  of  the  constant 
affected  fierceness  of  a  Bully,  or  the  eternal 
simper  of  a  Frenchman  or  a  Fiddler."] 


He  looked 
Just  as  your  sign-post  Lions  do, 
With  aspect  fierce  and  quite  as  harm- 
less too. 

II. 

(patient  stupidity.) 

So  heavy,  passive   to  the  tempest's 

shocks. 
Dull    on    the    sign-post   stands   the 

stupid  ox. 

III. 

His  face  with  smile  eternal  drest 
Just  like  the  landlord  to  his  guest, 
High  as  they  hang  with  creaking  din 
To  index  out  the  Country  Inn. 

IV. 

A  HEAD,  pure,  sinless  quite  of  brain 

and  soul. 
The  very  image  of  a  barber's  poll : 


Just  shews  a  human  face,  and  wears 


a  wig, 


And  looks,  when  well  friseur'd,  amaz- 


ing big 


ON   MISS   JEAN   SCOTT. 

[According  to  Allan  Cunningham,  the 
Jeanie  Scott  of  these  verses,  "  belonged  to 
Ecclefechan,  although  she  resided  in  Avr 
and  cheered  the  poet,  not  only  with  her 
sweet  looks,  but  sweet  voice."  —  William 
Wallace.] 

O,  HAD  each  Scot  of  ancient  times 
Been,  Jeanie  Scott,  as  thou  art, 

The  bravest  heart  on  English  ground 
Had  yielded  like  a  coward. 


ON  CAPTAIN  FRANCIS  GROSE. 

["  Mr.  Grose  was  exceedingly  corpulent, 
and  used  to  rally  himself  with  the  greatest 
good  humor  on  the  singular  rotundity  of 
his  figure." —  Scois  A/agazine.'] 

The  Devil  got  notice  that  Grose  was 
a-dying, 

So  whip  !  at  the  summons,  old  Satan 
came  flying ; 

But  when  he  approach'd  where  poor 
Francis  lay  moaning. 

And  saw  each  bed-post  with  its  bur- 
then a-groaning, 

Astonish'd,  confounded,  cries  Satan : 
— '  By  God, 

I  'd  want  him  ere  take  such  a  damna- 
ble load ! ' 


ON     BEING      APPOINTED     TO 
AN   EXCISE   DIVISION. 

[The  appointment  was  made  in  August, 
1789.] 

Searching  auld  wives'  barrels, 
Ochon,  the  day 


20S 


ON   MISS   DAVIES.  — IN   LAMINGTON   KIRK. 


That   clarty   barm   should   stain   my 
laurels  ! 
But  what  ^11  ye  say  ? 
These  movin'  things  caM  wives  an' 
weaiis 
Wad    move     the    very    hearts    o' 
stanes. 


ON   MISS   DAVIES. 

[Miss  Debora  Davies,  daughter  of  Dr. 
Davies  of  Tenby,  Pembrokeshire,  and  a 
relative  of  Captain  Riddell.J 

Ask   why  God    made    the    gem   so 
small, 
And  why  so  huge  the  granite  ? 
Because  God  meant  mankind  should 
set 
That  higher  value  on  it. 


ON  A  BEAUTIFUL  COUNTRY 
SEAT. 

[The  seat  of  David  Maxwell  of  Car- 
doness,  described  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  by  Burns 
as  a  "  stupid,  money-loving  dunderpate."] 

We  grant  they  Ye  thine,  those  beau- 
ties all, 

So  lovely  in  our  eye  : 
Keep  them,  thou  eunuch,  Cardoness, 

For  others  to  enjoy. 


THE   TYRANT   WIFE. 

[Usually  published    under    the  title   of 
"  The  Henpecked  Husband."] 

Curs'd  be  the  man,  the  poorest 
wretch  in  life. 

The  crouching  vassal  to  the  tyrant 
wife  ! 

Who  has  no  will  but  by  her  high  per- 
mission ; 

Who  has  not  sixpence  but  in  her 
possession ; 


Who  must  to  her  his  dear  friend's 
secret  tell ; 

Who  dreads  a  curtain  lecture  worse 
than  hell  ! 

Were  such  the  wife  had  fallen  to  my 
part, 

I  'd  break  her  spirit,  or  I  'd  break  her 
heart : 

I  'd  charm'  her  with  the  magic  of  a 
switch, 

I  'd  kiss  her  maids,  and  kick  the  per- 
verse bitch. 


AT   BROWNHILL   INN. 

[A  play    on  the  name  of  the  Landlord, 
"  Bacon."] 

At  Brownhill   we  always  get  dainty 

good  cheer 
And  plenty  of  bacon  each  day  in  the 

year; 
We  Ve  a'  thing  that 's  nice,  and  mostly 

in  season : 
But  why  always  bacon  ?  —  come,  tell 

me  the  reason? 


THE  TOADEATER. 

[There  are  several  versions  of  this  epi- 
gram, due  to  tradition,  etc.  Some  of  them 
are  vigorous  but  coarse.] 

Of  Lordly  acquaintance  you  boast. 
And  the  Dukes  that  you  dined  with 
yestreen ; 

Yet  an  insect 's  an  insect  at  most, 
Tho'  it  crawl  on  the  curl  of  a  Queen. 


IN   LAMINGTON   KIRK. 

[The  minister  was  Thomas  Mitchell.    He 
is  described  as  "  an  accomplished  scholar."] 

As  cauld  a  wind  as  ever  blew, 
A  cauld  kirk,  and  in 't  but  few, 
As  cauld  a  minister 's  ever  spak  — 
Ye  'se  a'  be  het  or  I  come  back ! 


THE  KEEKIN   GLASS.  — ON   COMMISSARY   GOLDIE'S   BRAINS.      209 


THE   KEEKIN    GLASS. 

[Written  extempore  for  Miss  Miller, 
at  Dalswinton,  on  a  drunken  "  Lord  of  Justi- 
ciary," pointing  at  lier,  and  asking,  "  Wha's 
yon'hoolel-faced  thing  i'  the  corner  ?  "] 

How  daur  ye  ca'  me  '  H owlet-face,' 
Ye  blear-e'ed,  withered  spectre? 

Ye  only  spied  the  keekin-glass, 
An'  there  ye  saw  your  picture. 


AT  THE  GLOBE  TAVERN, 
DUMFRIES. 


[Inscribed,  with  the  exception  of  the 
second  stanza  of  No.  2,  on  window-panes 
now  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  J.  P.  Brunton, 
Galashiels.] 


The   greybeard,   old   Wisdom,   may 
boast  of  his  treasures, 
Give  me  with  gay  Folly  to  live ! 
I  grant  him  his  calm-blooded,  time- 
settled  pleasures. 
But  Folly  has  raptures  to  give. 


2. 


(I.) 

I  MURDER  hate  by  field  or  flood, 

Tho'  Glory's  name  may  screen  us. 
In  wars  at  hame  I  '11  spend  my  blood  — 

Life-giving  wars  of  Venus. 
The  deities  that  I  adore 

Are  Social  Peace  and  Plenty : 
I  'm  better  pleas'd  to  make  one  more 

Than  be  the  death  of  twenty. 

(II.) 

I  would  not  die  like  Socrates, 

For  all  the  fuss  of  Plato  ; 
Nor  would  I  with  Leonidas, 

Nor  yet  would  I  with  Cato  ; 


The  zealots  of  the  Church  and  State 
Shall  ne'er  my  mortal  foes  be ; 

But  let  me  have  bold  Zimri's  fate 
Within  the  arms  of  Cozbi. 


My  bottle  is  a  holy  pool, 
That  heals  the  wounds  o'  care  an'  dool, 
And  pleasure  is  a  wanton  trout  — 
And  ye  drink  it,  ye  '11  find  him  out. 


4. 

In  politics  if  thou  would'st  mix. 
And  mean  thy  fortunes  be; 

Bear  this  in  mind  :  Be  deaf  and  blind. 
Let  great  folks  hear  and  see. 


YE   TRUE   LOYAL   NATIVES. 

[The  "  Loyal  Natives  Club  "  of  Dumfries 
celebrated  the  king's  birthday  on  June  4 
with  a  dinner  and  a  ball.  They  had  lam- 
pooned Burns  and  his  friends,  and  this  is 
his  reply.] 

Ye  true  '  Loyal  Natives '  attend  to  my 

song : 
In  uproar  and  riot  rejoice  the  night 

long  ! 
From  Envy  and  Hatred  your  core  is 

exempt, 
But   where   is   your  shield  from  the 

darts  of  Contempt.'* 


ON   COMMISSARY   GOLDIE'S 
BRAINS. 

[Commissary   Goldie  was   President   of 
the  "  Loyal  Natives."] 

Lord,  to  account  who  does  Thee  call. 
Or  e'er  dispute  Thy  pleasure  ? 

Else  why  within  so  thick  a  wall 
Enclose  so  poor  a  treasure? 


2IO 


IN  A  LADY'S   POCKET   BOOK.  — ON   MISS   FONTENELLE. 


IN   A   LADY'S    POCKET   BOOK. 

[Published  in  Stewart's  "  Poems  ascribed 
to  Robert  Burns"  (Glasgow,  1801).] 

Grant  me.  indulgent  Heaven,  that  I 

may  live 
To  see  the  miscreants  feel  the  pains 

they  give  ! 
Deal  Freedom's  sacred  treasures  free 

as  air, 
Till  Slave  and  Despot  be  but  things 

that  were  ! 


AGAINST   THE    EARL   OF 
GALLOWAY. 

["  Why  Burns  detested  Lord  Galloway  is 
not  known,  nor  is  it  important  to  know." 
—  Andrew  Lang.] 

What  dost  thou  in  that  mansion  fair? 

Flit,  Galloway,  and  find 
Some  narrow,  dirty,  dungeon  cavp 

The  picture  of  thy  mind. 


ON   THE   SAME. 

No  Stewart  art  thou,  Galloway: 
The  Stewarts  all  were  brave. 

Besides,  the  Stewarts  were  but  fools, 
Not  one  of  them  a  knave. 


ON   THE   SAME. 

Bright  ran  thy  line,  O  Galloway, 
Thro'  many  a  far-famed  sire  ! 

So  ran  the  far-famed  Roman  way, 
And  ended  in  a  mire. 


ON  THE  SAME,  ON  THE 
AUTHOR  BEING  THREAT- 
ENED WITH  VENGEANCE. 

Spare  me  thy  vengeance,  Galloway! 

In  quiet  let  me  live : 
I  ask  no  kindness  at  thy  hand, 

For  thou  hast  none  to  give. 


ON   THE    LAIRD   OF    LAGGAN. 

[Morine  had  bought  the  farm  of  Ellis- 
land.] 

When  Morine,  deceas'd,  to  the  Devil 

went  down, 
'Twas  nothing  would  serve  him  but 

Satan's  own  crown. 
'  Thy  fool's  head,'  quoth  Satan,  '  that 

crown  shall  wear  never : 
I  grant  thou  'rt   as  wicked,  but  not 

quite  so  clever.' 


ON   MARIA   RIDDELL. 

[Inscribed  on  the  back  of  a  draft  copy 
of  "  Scots  Wha  Hae."  The  heading  is, 
"  On  my  Lord  Buchan's  vociferating  in  an 
argument  that  '  Women  must  always  be 
flattered  grossly  or  not  spoken  to  at  all.'  "] 

'Praise  Woman  still,'  his  lordship 
roars, 

'  Deserv'd  or  not,  no  matter  ! ' 
But  thee  whom  all  my  soul  adores, 

There  Flattery  cannot  flatter  ! 
Maria,  all  my  thought  and  dream. 

Inspires  my  vocal  shell : 
The  more  I  praise  my  lovely  theme, 

The  more  the  truth  I  tell. 


ON   MISS   FONTENELLE. 

[On  seeing  her  in  a  favorite  character. 
Published  in  Cunningham,  1834.] 

Sweet  naivetd  of  feature, 

Simple,  wild,  enchanting  elf, 
Not  to  thee,  but  thanks  to  Nature 

Thou  art  acting  but  thyself. 
Wert  thou  awkward,  stiff,  affected. 

Spurning  Nature,  torturing  art. 
Loves  and  Graces  all  rejected. 

Then  indeed  thou  'dst  act  a  part. 


KIRK  AND   STATE   EXCISEMEN.  — ON  CHLORIS. 


211 


KIRK   AND   STATE   EXCISE- 
iMEN. 

[Written    on   a   window   in   the    King's 
Arms,  Dumfries.] 

Ye  men  of  wit  and  wealth,  why  all 

this  sneering 
'Gainst  poor  Excisemen?      Give  the 

cause  a  hearing. 
What  are  your  Landlord's  rent-rolls? 

Taxing  ledgers  ! 
What   Tremiers  ?     What   ev'n   Mon- 

archs?     Mighty  Gangers  ! 
Nay,  what  are  Priests  (those  seeming 

godly  wise-men)  ? 
What   are   they,  pray,  but    Spiritual 

Excisemen  ! 


ON     THANKSGIVING     FOR    A 
NATIONAL   VICTORY. 

[The  victory  was  probably   Howe's,  off 
Ushant,  June  i,  1794.] 

•Ye  hypocrites !  are  these  your  pranks  ? 

To  murder  men,  and  give  God  thanks  ? 

Desist  for  shame  !  Proceed  no  fur- 
ther : 

God  won't  accept  your  thanks  for 
Murther. 


PINNED     TO     MRS.     WALTER 
RIDDELL'S  CARRIAGE. 

If  you  rattle  along  like  your  mistress's 
tongue. 
Your  speed  will  out-rival  the  dart ; 
But,  a  fly  for  your  load,  you  '11  break 
down  on  the  road. 
If  your   stuff"  be    as    rotten 's    her 
heart. 


TO    DR.    MAXWELL. 

ON   MISS  JESSY   STAIG'S   RECOVERY. 

[Burns   and  Maxwell  were  fast  friends. 
He  attended  Burns  during  his  last  illness, 


when  the  dying  man  presented  him  with  his 
pistols.] 

Maxwell,  if  merit  here  you  crave, 

That  merit  I  deny  : 
Von  save  fair  Jessie  from  the  grave!  — 

An  Angel  could  not  die  ! 


TO    THE    BEAUTIFUL    MISS 
ELIZA   J N. 

ON     HER     PRINCIPLES     OF      LIBERTY 
AND    EQUALITY. 

[The  idea  occurs,  as  Mr.  Scott  Douglas 
points  out,  in  a  Latin  epigram  of  Dr.  John- 
son's.] 


Girl,  can  it  be  by 
Hussey,    art    not 


How,  '  Liberty  ! ' 
thee  nam'd? 

'  Equality,'    too  ! 
ashamed  ? 

Free  and  Equal  indeed,  while  man- 
kind thou  enchainest. 

And  over  their  hearts  a  proud  Despot 
so  reignest. 


ON   CHLORIS 

REQUESTING     ME     TO     GIVE     HER     A 
SPRIG   OF   BLOSSOMED   THORN. 

[Published  in  "The  Edinburgh  Adver- 
tiser" of  Aug.  8,  1800.  With  an  additional 
stanza,  a  change  in  the  heroine's  name,  and 
a  change  in  one  of  the  lines,  it  was  set  to 
music  by  William  Shield,  and  has  been* 
popular  with  English  tenors  ever  since.] 

From  the  white- blossom'd  sloe  my 
dear  Chloris  requested 
A  sprig,  her  fair  breast  to  adorn  : 
'No,  by   Heaven!'   I  exclaim"d,  'let 
me  perish  for  ever, 
Ere    I    plant    in    that     bosom     a 
thorn ! ' 


212 


TO   MAULE   OF   PANMURE.  — ON  A   GOBLET. 


TO  THE  HON.  WM.  R.  MAULE 
OF   PANMURE. 

[Published  for  the  first  time  in  the  Cen- 
tenary edition.  This  gentleman  bestowed 
an  annuity  of  ^^50  on  Burns's  widow.] 

Thou  Fool,  in  thy  phaeton  towering, 
Art   proud   when    that    phaeton 's 
prais'd  ? 

'T  is  the  pride  of  a  Thief's  exhibition 
When  higher  his  pillory 's  rais'd. 


ON  SEEING  MRS.   KEMBLE  IN 
YARICO. 

[The  lady  was  Mrs.  Stephen  Kemble, 
who  appeared  at  the  Dumfries  Theatre  in 
October,  1794.] 

Kemble,  thou  cur'st  niy  unbelief 

Of  Moses  and  his  rod  : 
At  Yarico's  sweet  notes  of  grief 

The  rock  with  tears  had  flow'd. 


ON  DR.  BABINGTON'S  LOOKS. 

[Burns,  in  his  letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  re- 
fers to  the  subject  of  his  satire  as  "  a  well- 
known  character"  in  Dumfries.] 

That   there   is   a   falsehood    in   his 
looks 

I  must  and  will  deny : 
They  say  their  Master  is  a  knave, 

And  sure  they  do  not  lie. 


ON   ANDREW   TURNER. 

[The   epigram   was  written   at   Turner's 
own  suggestion.] 

In  Seventeen  Hunder'n  Forty-Nine 
The  Deil  gat  stuif  to  mak  a  swine, 
An'  coost  it  in  a  corner ; 


But  wilily  he  changed  his  plan, 
An'  shap'd  it  something  like  a  man, 
An'  ca'd  it  Andrew  Turner. 


THE  SOLEMN  LEAGUE  AND 
COVENANT. 

["  As  a  rule,  Burns  preferred  Dundee  to 
the  Covenanters."  —  Andrew  Lang.] 

The  Solemn  League  and  Covenant 
Now  brings  a  smile,  now  brings  a 
tear. 
But  sacred  Freedom,  too,  was  theirs  : 


If    thou'rt 
sneer. 


a    slave. 


indulge 


thy 


TO  JOHN  SYME  OF  RYEDALE, 

WITH    A    PRESENT    OF    A    DOZEN    OF 
PORTER. 

[Mr.  John  Syme  was  one  of  the  poet's 
constant  companions.  He  possessed  great 
talent,  and  Dr.  Carrie  wished  him  to  under- 
take the  editing  of  the  poet's  life  and  writ- 
ings.] 

O  HAD  the  malt  thy  strength  of  mind, 
Or  hops  the  flavour  of  thy  wit, 

'Twere  drink  for  first  of  human  kind  — 
A  gift  that  ev'n  for  Syme  were  fit. 

Jerusalem  Tavern, 
Dumfries. 


ON   A   GOBLET. 

[The  goblet  belonged  to  Syme.] 

There's  Death   in   the  cup,  so  be 
ware ! 
Nay,    more  —  there    is   danger   ii 
touching ! 
But  who  can  avoid  the  fell  snare  ? 
The   man   and   his  wine's  so  be 
witching  ! 


APOLOGY  TO  JOHN  SYME.  — TO  JESSIE   LEWARS. 


213 


APOLOGY   TO  JOHN    SYME. 

["On  refusing  to  dine  with  him,  after 
having  been  promised  the  first  of  company 
and  the  first  of  cookery,  Dec.  17,  1795."] 

No  more  of  your  guests,  be  they  titled 
or  not. 
And  cookery  the  first  in  the  nation  : 
Who  is  proof  to  thy  personal  converse 
and  wit 
Is  proof  to  all  other  temptation. 


ON   MR.    JAMES   GRACIE. 

[Published  in  McDowell's  "Burns  in 
Dumfriesshire,"  1870.  Mr.  Gracie  was  a 
local  banker.] 

Gracie,  thou  art  a  man  of  worth, 
O,  be  thou  Dean  for  ever  ! 

May  he   be  damn'd  to   Hell  hence- 
forth, 
Who  fauts  thy  weight  or  measure  ! 


AT    FRIARS    CARSE    HERMIT- 
AGE. 

["  I  copied  these  lines  from  a  pane  of 
glass  in  the  Friars  Carse  Hermitage,  on 
which  they  had  been  traced  with  the  dia- 
mond of'  Burns."  —  Allan  Cunning- 
ham.] 

To  Riddell,  much-lamented  man. 

This  ivied  cot  was  dear : 
Wand"rer,  dost  value  matchless  worth  ? 

This  ivied  cot  revere. 


FOR  AN  ALTAR  OF  INDEPEND- 
ENCE. 

AT     KERROUGHTRIE,     THE     SEAT     OF 
MR.    HERON. 

[Written  in  the  summer  of  1795.     Pub- 
lished in  Currie,  1800.] 

Thou  of  an  independent  mind, 
With  soul  resolv'd,  with  soul  resigned, 


Prepared  Power's   proudest  frown  to 

brave. 
Who  wilt  not  be,  nor  have  a  slave, 
Virtue  alone  who  dost  revere. 
Thy  own  reproach  alone  dost  fear : 
Approach    this   shrine,  and    worship 

here. 


VERSICLES    TO    JESSIE 
LEWARS. 

THE   TOAST. 

[Inscribed  on  a  goblet  presented  to  Miss 
Lewars.] 

Fill  me  with  the  rosy  wine ; 
Call  a  toast,  a  toast  divine  ; 
Give  the  Poet's  darling  flame ; 
Lovely  Jessie  be  her  name  : 
Then  thou  mayest  freely  boast 
Thou  hast  given  a  peerless  toast. 

THE   MENAGERIE. 

[Written  on  the  advertisement  of  a  trav- 
elling show,  handed  to  Burns  in  Jessie's 
presence.] 

I. 

Talk  not  to  me  of  savages 
From  Afric's  burning  sun  ! 

No  savage  e'er  can  rend  my  heart 
As,  Jessie,  thou  hast  done. 

II. 

But  Jessie's  lovely  hand  in  mine 
A  mutual  faith  to  plight  — 

Not  even  to  view  the  heavenly  choir 
Would  be  so  blest  a  sight. 

JESSIE'S   ILLNESS. 

Say,  sages,  what 's  the  charm  on  earth 
Can  turn  Death's  dart  aside  ? 

It  is  not  purity  and  worth. 
Else  Jessie  had  not  died! 

HER   RECOVERY. 

But  rarely  seen  since  Nature's  birth 

The  natives  of  the  sky ! 
Yet  still  one  seraph  's  left  on  earth. 

For  Jessie  did  not  die. 


214 


ON   MARRIAGE.  — AT  THE  GLOBE  TAVERN. 


ON   MARRIAGE. 

[Printed  for  the  first  time  in  the  Centen- 
ary edition,  from  a  Ms.  in  possession  of  the 
pubhshers  of  that  edition.] 

That  hackneyed  judge  of  human  life, 
The  Preacher  and  the  King, 


The    man  that   gets   a 


Observes :  — 
wife 

He  gets  a  noble  thing.' 
But  how  capricious  are  mankind. 

Now  loathing,  now  desirous! 
We  married  men,  how  oft  we  find 

The  best  of  things  will  tire  us! 


GRACES. 


A   POET'S   GRACE. 

[These  stanzas  appeared  in  "  The  Edin- 
burgh Courant,"  Aug.  27, 1789.  The  "  Grace 
Before  Meat  "  was  inscribed  in  the  "  Glenrid- 
dell  Book,"  and  is  printed  in  Currie,  1800. 
Both  were  published  in  Oliver  (Edinburgh, 
1801),  Duncan  (Glasgow,  1801),  and  Stew- 
art (Glasgow,  1802).] 


BEFORE   MEAT. 

O  Thou,  who  kindly  dost  provide 

For  ev'ry  creature's  want  I 
We  bless  the  God  of  Nature  wide 

For  all  Thy  goodness  lent. 
And  if  it  please  Thee,  heavenly  Guide, 

May  never  worse  be  sent ; 
But,  whether  granted  or  denied, 

Lord,  bless  us  with  content. 


AFTER   MEAT. 

O  Thou,  in  whom  we  live  and  move, 

Who  made  the  sea  and  shore. 
Thy  goodness  constantly  we  prove. 

And,  grateful,  would  adore ; 
And,  if  it  please  Thee,  Power  above  ! 

Still  grant  us  with  such  store 
The  friend  we  trust,  the  fair  we  love, 

And  we  desire  no  more. 


AT   THE   GLOBE   TAVERN. 

BEFORE   MEAT. 

O  Lord,  when  hunger  pinches  sore, 
Do  thou  stand  us  in  stead, 

And  send  us  from  Thy  bounteous  store 
A  tup-  or  wether-head. 

AFTER   MEAT. 
I. 

Lord  [Thee]  we   thank,  and   Thee 
alone, 

For  temporal  gifts  we  little  merit! 
At  present  we  will  ask  no  more : 

Let  William  Hislop  bring  the  spirit. 

2. 

O  Lord,  since  we  have  feasted  thus, 

Which  we  so  little  merit. 
Let  Meg  now  take  the  flesh  away, 

And  Jock  bring  in  the  spirit. 


O  Lord,  we  do  Thee  humbly  thank 

For  that  we  little  merit : 
Now  Jean  may  tak  the  flesh  away, 

And  Will  bring  in  the  spirit. 


ON    IHE   LAIRD   OF  BOGHEAD.  — ON    HOLY   WILLIE 


215 


EPITAPHS. 


ON     JAMES     GRIEVE,     LAIRD 
OF    BOGHEAD,  TARBOLTON. 

[This  epitaph  is  a  sort  of  reversal  of  that 
on  Gavin  Hamilton.] 

Here  lies  Boghead  amang  the  dead 
In  hopes  to  get  salvation  ; 

But  if  such  as  he  in  Heav'n  may  be. 
Then  welcome  —  hail !  damnation. 


ON    WM.    MUIR    IN    TARBOL- 
TON   MILL. 

[Jean  Armour,  being  expelled  from  her 
home,  found  shelter  for  a  time  with  Mr. 
Muir's  wife.] 

An  honest  man  here  lies  at  rest, 
As  e'er  God  with  His  image  blest : 
The  friend  of  man,  the  friend  of  truth. 
The  friend  of  age,  and  guide  of  youth  : 
Few    hearts    like    his  —  with    virtue 

warm'd. 
Few   heads    with    knowledge    so   in- 
formed : 
If  there  's  another  world,  he  lives  in 

bliss ; 
If  there  is  none,  he  made  the  best  of 
this. 


ON   JOHN   RANKINE. 

[Adamhill,  where  Rankine  lived,  is  a  farm 
near  Lochea.] 

Ae  day,  as  Death,  that  gruesome  carl. 
Was  driving  to  the  tither  warP 
A  mixtie-maxtie,  motley  squad 
And  monie  a  guilt-bespotted  lad  : 
Black  gowns  of  each  denomination, 
And  thieves  of  every  rank  and  station. 
From   him  that  wears  the  star  and 

garter 
To  him  that  wintles  in  a  halter : 
Asham'd  himself  to  see  the  wretches, 


He  mutters,  glow'ringat  the  bitches  : — 
'  By  God  I  '11  not  be  seen  behint  them, 
Nor  'mang  the  sp'ritual  core  present 

them. 
Without  at  least  ae  honest  man 
To  grace  this  damn'd  infernal  clan  ! ' 
By  Adamhill  a  glance  he  threw, 
'  Lord  God  ! '  quoth  he,  '  I    have   it 

now. 
There's  just  the  man  I  want,  i'  faith  !' 
And  quickly  stoppit  Rankine's  breath. 


ON   TAM    THE    CHAPMAN. 

[Reported  to  be  one  Thomas  Kennedy, 
a  schoolfellow  of  Burns,  who  turned  com- 
mercial traveller.] 

As  Tarn  the  chapman  on  a  day 
Wi'  Death  forgathered  by  the  way, 
Weel   pleased   he  greets  a  wight   so 

famous, 
And  Death  was  nae  less  pleas'd  wi' 

Thomas, 
Wha  cheerfully  lays  down  his  pack. 
And  there  blaws  up  a  hearty  crack : 
His  social,  friendly,  honest  heart 
Sae    tickled    Dea'th,    they    could   na 

part ; 
Sae,  after  viewing  knives  and  garters, 
Death   taks    him    hame   to   gie    him 

quarters. 


ON    HOLY   WILLIE. 

["  Unpublished  by  Bums,  and  Burns 
was  commonly  a  good  critic  of  his  own 
work."— Andrew  Lang.] 


Here  Holy  Willie's  sair  worn  clay 

Taks  up  its  last  abode  ; 
His  saul  has  taen  some  other  w^ay  — 

I  fear,  the  left-hand  road. 


2l6 


ON  JOHN  DOVE.  — ON  ROBERT  FERGUSSON. 


II. 

Stop  !  there  he  is,  as  sure  's  a  gun  ! 

Poor,  silly  body,  see  him  ! 
Nae   wonder    he 's    as    black 's    the 
grun  — 

Observe  wha  's  standing  wi'  him  ! 

III. 

Your  brunstane  Devilship,  I  see, 
Has  got  him  there  before  ye  ! 

Rut  haud  your  nine-tail-cat  a  wee, 
Till  ance  you  Ve  heard  my  story. 

IV. 

Your  pity  I  will  not  implore, 

For  pity  ye  have  nane. 
Justice,  alas  !  has  gi'en  him  o'er, 

And  mercy's  day  is  gane. 


But  hear  me,  Sir,  Deil  as  ye  are, 
Look  something  to  your  credit : 

A  cuif  like  him  wad  stain  your  name, 
If  it  were  kent  ye  did  it  ! 


ON  JOHN  DOVE,  INNKEEPER. 

[Dove  was  landlord  of  the  Whitefoord 
Arms,  Mauchline.j 


Here  lies  Johnie  Pigeon: 
What  was  his  religion 

Whae'er  desires  to  ken 
To  some  other  warP 
Maun  follow  the  carl, 

For  here  Johnie  Pigeon  had  nane  ! 

II. 

Strong  ale  was  ablution; 
Small  beer,  persecution ; 

A  dram  was  ineinento  7nori; 
But  a  full  flowing  bowl 
Was  the  saving  his  soul, 

And  port  was  celestial  glory  ! 


ON   A    WAG    IN    MAUCHLINE 
[James  Smith,  a  member  of  the  Club.] 


I. 


Lament  him,  Mauchline  husbands  a', 

He  aften  did  assist  ye  ; 
For  had  ye  staid  hale  weeks  awa'. 

Your  wives  they  ne'er  had  missed 


ye 


II. 


Ye  Mauchline  bairns,  as  on  ye  pass 
To  school  in  bands  thegither, 

O,  tread  ye  lightly  on  his  grass  — 
Perhaps  he  was  your  father ! 


ON   ROBERT   FERGUSSON. 

ON  THE  TOMBSTONE  IN  THE  CANON- 
GATE  CHURCHYARD. 

HERE   LIES   ROBERT   FERGUSSON. 
BORN  SEPT.  5TH,    I751. 
DIED  OCT.  16TH,    1774. 

[On  the  reverse  of  the  stone  is  the  decla- 
ration, "  By  special  grant  of  the  Managers 
to  Robert  Burns,  who  erected  this  stone, 
this  burial-place  is  to  remain  forever  sacred 
to  the  memory  of  Robert  Fergusson."] 

No  sculptur'd  Marble  here,  nor  pom- 
pous lay. 
No  storied  Urn  nor  animated  Bust ; 
This  simple  stone  directs  pale  Scotia  s 
way 
To  pour  her  sorrow  o'er  the  Poet's 
dust. 


Additional  Stanzas, 
not  inscribed. 

I. 

She  mourns,  sweet  tuneful  youth,  thy 
hapless  fate : 


FOR    WILLIAM   NICOL.  —  MONODY. 


217 


Tho'  all    the  powers  of  song   thy 
fancy  tir'd. 
Yet    Luxury  and   Wealth    lay  by  in 
State, 
And,  thankless,  starv'd  what  they 
so  much  admir'd. 

II- 

This  humble   tribute  with  a  tear  he 
gives 
A  brother  Bard  —  he  can  no  more 
bestow : 
But  dear  to  fame  thy  Song  immortal 
lives, 
A  nobler  monument  than  Art  can 
show. 


FOR  WILLIAM   NICOL. 

[Burns    counted     Nicol     his    "  dearest 
friend,"  after  his  own  brother,] 

Ye  maggots,  feed  on  Nicol's  brain, 
For  few  sic  feasts  you  ''ve  gotten  ; 

Aftl  fix  your  claws  in  NicoPs  heart, 
For  deil  a  bit  o't  's  rotten. 


FOR  MR.   WILLIAM   MICHIE, 

SCHOOLMASTER    OF    CLEISH    PARISH, 
FIFESHIRE. 

[There  is  no  record  of  Burns's  acquaint- 
ance with  William  Michie.] 

Here  lie  Willie  Michie\s  banes  : 
O  Satan,  when  ye  iak  him, 

Gie  him  the  schulin  o'  your  weans. 
For  clever  dcils  he  11  mak  them  ! 


FOR  WILLIAM  CRUICKSHANK, 
A.M. 

[Cruickshank  was  a  schoolmaster  in 
Edinburgh.  His  daughter  Jenny  was  a 
favorite  with  the  poet.] 


Now     honest 
Heaven, 


W^illiam  's     gfaen     to 


The  fauts  he  had  in  Latin  lay, 
For  naue  in  English  kent  them. 


I  wat  na  gin 't  can  mend  him 


ON  ROBERT  MUIR. 

[Muir  subscribed  with  great  liberality  to 
both  the  Kilmarnock  and  the  Edinburgh 
editions,  and  letters  to  him  are  included  in 
the  Burns  correspondence.] 

What  man   could   esteem,  or  what 
woman  could  love. 
Was  he  who  lies  under  this  sod  : 
If  such  Thou  refusest  admission  above. 
Then  whom  wilt  Thou  favour,  Good 
God? 


ON   A   LAP-DOG. 

[The  lap-dog  belonged  to  Mrs.  Gordon 
of  Kenmore.  The  little  beast  had  died  just 
before  Burns  visited  her  during  his  Gallo- 
way tour,  and  she  was  importunate  that  he 
should  write  its  epitaph.] 


In  wood  and  wild,  ye  warbling  throng, 

Your  heavy  loss  deplore  : 
Now  half  extinct  your  powers  of  song — 

Sweet  Echo  is  no  more. 

II. 

Ye  jarring,  screeching  things  around. 
Scream  your  discordant  joys  : 

Now  half  your  din  of  tuneless  sound 
With  Echo  silent  lies. 


MONODY 

ON  A  LADY  FAMED  FOR  HER  CAPRICE. 

[The  lady  was  Mrs.  Walter  Riddell,  with 
whom  the  poet  had  quarrelled,  and  become 
greatly  embittered.] 

I. 

How  cold  is  that  bosom  which  Folly 
once  fired  ! 


21 


8         FOR   MR.   WALTER   RIDDELL.  — ON   CAPT.   LASCELLES. 


How  pale  is  that  cheek  where  the 

rouge  lately  glistened  ! 
How   silent   that   tongue    which    the 

echoes  oft  tired  ! 
How  dull  is  that  ear  which  to  flattVy 

so  listened  ! 

II. 

If  sorrow  and  anguish  their  exit  await, 
From  friendship  and  dearest  affec- 
tion removed. 
How  doubly  severer,  Maria,  thy  fate  ! 
Thou  diedst  unwept,  as  thou  livedst 
unlov'd. 

III. 

Loves.  Graces,  and  Virtues,  I  call  not 
on  you : 
So  shy,  grave,  and  distant,  ye  shed 
not  a  tear. 
But  come,  all  ye  offspring  of  Folly  so 
true, 
And  flowers  let  us  cull  for  Maria's 
cold  bier  ! 

IV. 

We  '11  search  through  the  garden  for 
each  silly  flower. 
We  '11  roam  thro'  the  forest  for  each 
idle  weed. 
But    chiefly   the    nettle,   so    typical, 
shower, 
For  none  e'er  approach'd  her  but 
rued  the  rash  deed. 

V. 

We'll    sculpture    the    marble,   we'll 
measure  the  lay : 
Here  Vanity  strums  on  her   idiot 
lyre  ! 
There  keen  Indignation  shall  dart  on 
his  prey, 
Which  spurning  contempt  shall  re- 
deem from  his  ire  ! 

THE   EPITAPH. 

Here  lies,  now  a  prey  to   insulting 
neglect, 


What  once  was  a  butterfly,  gay  in 

life's  beam  : 
Want   only   of   wisdom    denied    her 

respect. 
Want  only  of  goodness  denied  her 

esteem. 


FOR   MR.    WALTER   RIDDELL. 

[Enclosed  in  a  letter  to  Peter  Hill,  prob- 
ably of  October,  1794,  and  also  in  an  un- 
dated letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop.] 

So  vile  was  poor  Wat,  such  a  mis- 
creant slave. 

That  the  worms  ev'n  damn'd  him 
when  laid  in  his  grave. 

'In  his  scull  there's  a  famine,'  a 
starved  reptile  cries ; 

'  And  his  heart,  it  is  poison,'  another 
replies. 


ON   A   NOTED   COXCOMB. 

CAPT.    WM.  RODDICK,  OF   CORBISTON. 

[Who  this  noted  coxcomb  was  none  of 
the  poet's  editors  have  pointed  out;  but 
we  are  assured  that  the  lines  are  copied 
from  the  author's  Ms.  — ScoTT  Douglas.] 

Light  lay  the  earth  on  Billie's  breast, 
His  chicken  heart's  so  tender; 

But  build  a  castle  on  his  head  — 
His  scull  will  prop  it  under. 


ON   CAPT.  LASCELLES. 

[Published  in  Scott  Douglas,  1877.] 

When  Lascelles  thought  fit  from  this 
world  to  depart. 

Some  friends  warmly  spoke  of  em- 
balming his  heart. 

A  bystander  whispers  :  — '  Pray  don't 
make  so  much  o  't  — 

The  subject  is  poison,  no  reptile  will 
touch  it.' 


ON   A   GALLOWAY   LAIRD.  — ON   GRIZZKL  GRIMME. 


219 


ON    A   GALLOWAY    LAIRD. 

NOT   QUITE   SO   WISE   AS   SOLOMON. 

[David  Maxwell  of  Cardoness  —  de- 
scribed to  Mrs.  Dunlop  as  a  "stupid, 
money-loving  dundeipate,"  and  alluded  to 
with  great  contempt  in  an  epigram,  was 
created  a  baronet  in  1804,  and  died  in  1825.] 

Bless  Jesus  Christ,  O  Cardoness, 

With  grateful  lifted  eyes. 
Who  taught  that  not  the  soul  alone 

But  body  too  shall  rise! 
For  had  He  said  :  —  '  The  soul  alone 

From  death  I  will  deliver/ 
Alas  !  alas  !  O  Cardoness, 

Then  hadst  thou  lain  for  ever  ! 


ON  WM.   GRAHAM   OF  MOSS- 
KNOWE. 

[Cunningham  (1840).     Sent  to  Creech, 
and  inscribed  in  the  "  Glenriddell  Book."] 

'  Stop  thief  ! '     Dame  Nature  calPd 

to  Death, 
As  Willie  drew  his  latest  breath  : 
'  How  shall  I  make  a  fool  again? 
My  choicest  model  thou  hast  taen,' 


ON 


JOHN    BUSHBY   OF 
WALD  DOWNS. 


TIN- 


[Bushby,  the  son  of  a  spirit-dealer  in 
Dumfries,  became  a  lawyer,  and  afterwards 
a  private  banker  in  the  same  town.] 

Here    lies    John    Bushby  —  honest 

man  ! 
Cheat  him,  Devil  —  if  you  can  ! 


ON  A   SUICIDE. 

[Cunningham  says  that  Burns  was  seen 
to  write  the  trash  on  a  piece  of  paper,  and 


"thrust   it   with    his   fingers   into    the    red 
mould  of  the  grave."] 

Here  lies  in  earth  a  root  of  Hell 
Set  by  the  DeiPs  ain  dibble : 

This  worthless  body  damn'd  himsel 
To  save  the  Lord  the  trouble. 


ON   A   SWEARING   COXCOMB. 

["  This  was  an  English  swell,  who  had  a 
constant  practice  of  using  such  impreca- 
tions."—  ScoTT  Douglas.] 

Here  cursing,  swearing  Burton  lies, 
A  buck,  a  beau,  or  '  Dem  my  eyes! ' 
Who  in  his  life  did  little  good. 
And    his   last   words    were  :  — '  Dem 
my  blood  ! ' 


ON     AN     INNKEEPER      NICK- 
NAMED   'THE  MARQUIS." 

[Published  in  Duncan,  Glasgow,   1801. 
The  inn  was  in  a  Dumfries  close.] 

Here  lies  a   mock   Marquis,   whose 

titles  were  shamm'd. 
If  ever  he  rise,  it  will  be  to  be  damn'd. 


ON   GRIZZEL   GRIMME. 

[Mrs.  Grizzel  Young  was  the  widow  of 
Thomas  Young  of  Lincluden.] 

Here  lyes  with  Dethe  auld  Grizzel 
Grimme 
Lincluden's  ugly  w'itche. 
O    Dethe,    an'    what    a    taste    hast 
thou 
Cann  lye  with  siche  a  bitche  ! 


220 


FOR    GABRIEL   RICHARDSON.  — ON  THE  AUTHOR. 


FOR   GABRIEL   RICHARDSON. 

[Gabriel  Richardson  was  the  chief 
brewer  of  Dumfries,  and  provost  of  the 
burgh  in  1802-3.] 

Here  brewer  Gabriel's  fire's  extinct, 
And  empty  all  his  barrels : 

He's    blest  —  if   as    he    brew'd,   he 
drink  — 
In  upright,  virtuous  morals. 


ON   THE   AUTHOR. 

[Written  by  Burns  while  on  his  death- 
bed to  John  Rankine,  Ayrshire,  and  for- 
warded to  him  immediately  after  the  poet's 
death.] 

He  who  of  Rankine  sang,  lies  stiff 

and  deid, 
And  a  green,  grassy  hillock  hides  his 

held  : 
Alas!  alas!  a  devilish  change  indeed! 


YOUNG   PEGGY.  — BONIE  DUNDEE. 


221 


SONGS    FROM    JOHNSON'S    "MUSICAL    MUSEUM" 
AND    THOMSON'S    ''SCOTTISH    AIRS." 


YOUNG   PEGGY. 

[Margaret,  daughter  of  Robert  Kennedy, 
of  Daljarroch,  Ayrshire,  and  niece  of  Mr. 
Gavin  Hamilton.] 

I. 

Young   Peggy  blooms    our   boniest 
lass : 

Her  blush  is  like  the  morning, 
The  rosy  dawn  the  springing  grass 

With  early  gems  adorning  ; 
Her  eyes  outshine  the  radiant  beams 

That  gild  the  passing  shower, 
And  glitter  o'er  the  crystal  streams. 

And  cheer  each  freshening  flower. 

II. 

Her   lips,  more    than    the    cherries 
bright  — 

A  richer  dye  has  graced  them  — 
They  charm  the  admiring  gazer's  sight, 

And  sweetly  tempt  to  taste  them. 
Her  smile  is  as  the  evening  mild. 

When  featherVl  pairs  are  courting, 
And  little  lambkins  wanton  wild, 

In  playful  bands  disporting. 

III. 

Were  Fortune  lovely  Peggy's  foe, 

Such  sweetness  would  relent  her : 
As  blooming  Spring  unbends  the  brow 

Of  surly,  savage  Winter. 
Detraction's  eye  no  aim  can  gain 

Her  winning  powers  to  lessen. 
And  fretful  Envy  grins  in  vain 

The  poison'd  tooth  to  fasten. 

rv. 

Ye    PowVs    of    Honour,    Love,   and 
Truth, 

From  ev'ry  ill  defend  her  I 
Inspire  the  highly-favour'd  youth 

The  destinies  intend  her! 


Still  fan  the  sweet  connubial  flame 
Responsive  in  each  bosom. 

And  bless  the  dear  parental  name 
With  many  a  filial  blossom ! 


BONIE   DUNDEE. 

[A  fragment  of  folk-ballad,  with  modifi- 
cations and  additions  by  Burns.] 


*0,  WHAR   gat  ye  that   hauver-meal 
bannock? ' 
'  O  silly  blind  body,  O,  dinna  ye  see  1 
I  gat  it  frae  a  young,  brisk  sodger  lad- 
die 
Between  Saint  Johnston  and  bonie 
Dundee. 
O,  gin  I  saw  the  laddie  that  gae  me  "t ! 
Aft  has  he  doudl'd  me  up  on  his 
knee  : 
May  Heaven  protect  my  bonie  Scots 
laddie, 
And  send  him  hame  to  his  babie 
and  me ! 

n. 

'My  blessin's   upon   thy   sweet,  wee 
lippie  ! 
My  blessin's   upon   thy   bonie   e'e 
brie ! 
Thy  smiles   are   sae    like  my  blythe 
sodger  laddie. 
Thou 's  ay  the  dearer  and  dearer  to 
me  ! 
But  I  '11  big  a  bow'r  on  yon  bonie 
banks, 
Whare   Tay   rins    wimplin   by  sae 
clear ; 
And  I  "11  deed  thee  in  the  tartan  sae 
fine, 
And  mak  thee  a  man  like  thy  daddie 
dear. 


222 


O,   WHISTLE   AN'   I'LL   COME  TO   YE,   MY   LAD. 


TO    THE    WEAVER'S    GIN    YE 
GO. 

["  The  cliorus  of  this  song  is  old,  the  rest 
is  mine."     (R.  B.)] 

Chorus. 

To  the  weaver's  gin  ye  go,  fair  maids, 
To  the  weaver's  gin  ye  go, 

I  rede  you  right,  gang  ne'er  at  night, 
To  the  weaver's  gin  ye  go. 


My  heart  was  ance  as  blythe  and  free 
As  simmer  days  were  lang ; 

But  a  bonie,  westlin  weaver  lad 
Has  gart  me  change  my  sang. 

II. 

My  mither  sent  me  to  the  town, 

To  warp  a  plaiden  wab  ; 
But  the  weary,  weary  warpin  o  't 

Has  gart  me  sigh  and  sab. 

III. 

A  bonie,  westlin  weaver  lad 

Sat  working  at  his  loom  ; 
He  took  my  heart,  as  wi'  a  net, 

In  every  knot  and  thrum. 

IV. 

I  sat  beside  my  warpin-wheel. 

And  ay  I  ca'd  it  roun' ; 
And  every  shot  and  every  knock, 

My  heart  it  gae  a  stoun. 


The  moon  was  sinking  in  the  west 

Wi'  visage  pale  and  wan, 
As  my  bonie,  westlin  weaver  lad 

Convoy'd  me  thro'  the  glen. 

VI. 

But  what  was  said,  or  what  was  done. 

Shame  fa'  me  gin  I  tell ; 
But  O  !  I  fear  the  kintra  soon 

Will  ken  as  weel  's  mysel ! 


Cho?'iis. 

To  the  weaver's  gin  ye  go,  fair  maids, 
To  the  weaver's  gin  ye  go, 

I  rede  you  right,  gang  ne'er  at  night, 
To  the  weaver's  gin  ye  go. 


O,   WHISTLE    AN'   I'LL    COME 
TO   YE,   MY   LAD. 

[This  song  has  hitherto  been  held  pure' 
Burns.  But  he  found  his  chorus  in  the 
Herd  Ms.] 

Chorus. 

O,  whistle  an'  I  '11  come  to  ye,  my 

lad! 
O,  whistle  an'  I  '11  come  to  ye,  my 

lad! 
Tho'  father  an'  mother  an'  a'  should 

gae  mad, 
O,  whistle  an'  I  '11  come  to  ye,  my 

lad! 

I. 

But  warily  tent  when  ye  come  to 

court  me. 
And  come  nae  unless  the  back-yett 

be  a-jee ; 
Syne  up  the  back-style,  and  let  nae- 

body  see. 
And  come  as  ye  were  na  comin  to 

me, 
And  come  as  ye  were  na  comin  to 

me  ! 

II. 

At  kirk,  or  at  market,  whene'er  ye 

meet  me. 
Gang  by  me  as  tho'  that  ye  car'd  na 

a  flie ; 
But  steal  me  a  blink  o'  your  bonie 

black  e'e, 
Yet  look  as  ye  were  na  lookin  to  me. 
Yet  look  as  ye  were  na  lookin  to  me  ! 

III. 

Ay  vow  and  protest  that  ye  care  na 
for  me, 


I'M  O'ER  YOUNG  TO  MARRY.— THE  BIRKS  OF  ABERFELDIE.     223 


And  whyles  ye  may  lightly  my  beauty 

a  wee ; 
But  court  na  anither  tho'  jokin  ye  be, 
For  fear  that  she  wyle  your  fancy  frae 

me, 
For  fear  that  she  wyle  your  fancy  frae 

me  ! 

Chorus, 

O,  whistle  an'  I  '11  come  to  ye,  my 

lad! 
O,  whistle  an'  I  '11  come  to  ye,  my 

lad! 
Tho'  father  an'  mother  an'  a'  should 

gae  mad, 
O,  whistle  an'  I  '11  come  to  ye,  my 

lad! 


I'M  O'ER  YOUNG  TO  MARRY 
YET. 

["The  chorus  of  this  song  is  old;   the 
rest  of  it,  such  as  it  is,  is  mine."     (R.  B.)] 

Chorus. 

I  'm  o'er  young,  I  'm  o'er  young, 
I  'm  o'er  young  to  marry  yet  ! 

I  'm  o'er  young,  't  wad  be  a  sin 
To  tak  me  frae  my  mammie  yet. 


I  AM  my  mammie's  ae  bairn, 
Wi'  unco  folk  I  weary,  Sir, 

And  lying  in  a  man's  bed, 

I  'm  fley'd  it  make  me  eerie,  Sir. 

II. 

Hallowmass  is  come  and  gane, 
The  nights  are  lang  in  winter,  Sir, 

And  you  an'  I  in  ae  bed  — 

In  trowth,  I  dare  na  venture.  Sir  ! 

III. 

Fu'  loud  and  shrill  the  frosty  wind 
Blaws   thro'   the    leafless   timmer, 
Sir, 


But  if  ye  come  this  gate  again, 
I  '11  aulder  be  gin  simmer.  Sir. 

Chortts. 

I  'm  o'er  young,  I'm  o'er  young, 
I  'm  o'er  young  to  marry  yet ! 

I  'm  o'er  young,  't  wad  be  a  sin 
To  tak  me  frae  my  mammie  yet. 


THE  BIRKS  OF  ABERFELDIE. 

["  I  composed  these  stanzas  standing 
under  the  Falls  of  Moness,  at  or  near 
Aberfeldy."    (R.  B.)] 

Chorus. 

Bonie  lassie,  will  ye  go. 
Will  ye  go,  will  ye  go  ? 
Bonie  lassie,  will  ye  go 

To  the  birks  of  Aberfeldie  ? 

I. 

Now  simmer  blinks  on  flow'ry  braes. 
And  o'er  the  crystal  streamlets  plays, 
Come,   let   us   spend   the   lightsome 
days 
In  the  birks  of  Aberfeldie  ! 

II. 

The  little  birdies  blythely  sing, 
While   o'er   their   heads   the    hazels 

hing, 
Or  lightly  flit  on  wanton  wing 
In  the  birks  of  Aberfeldie. 

III. 

The  braes  ascend  like  lofty  wa's, 
The  foaming  stream,  deep-roaring,  fa's 
O'er    hung    with    fragrant-spreading 
shaws. 
The  birks  of  Aberfeldie. 


IV. 

The    hoar}'    cliffs    are    crown'd   wi' 

flowers, 
White  o'er  the  linns  the  burnie  pours, 


224        MTHERSON'S   FAREWELL.  — MY   HIGHLAND   LASSIE,   O. 


And,  rising,  weets  wi'  misty  showers 
The  birks  of  Aberfeldie. 


V. 

Let  Fortune's  gifts  at  random  flee, 
They  ne'er  shall  draw  a  wish  frae  me, 
Supremely  blest  wi'  love  and  thee 
In  the  birks  of  Aberfeldie. 

Chorus. 

Bonie  lassie,  will  ye  go, 
Will  ye  go,  will  ye  go  ? 
Bonie  lassie,  will  ye  go 

To  the  birks  of  Aberfeldie  ? 


MTHERSON'S  FAREWELL. 

["  M'Pherson,  a  daring  robber  in  the  be- 
ginning of  this  century,  was  condemned  to 
be  hanged  at  the  Assizes  of  Inverness.  He 
is  said,  when  under  sentence  of  death,  to 
have  composed  this  tune,  which  he  calls  his 
own  Lament,  or  Farewell."  —  R.  B.  This 
song  was  a  favorite  one  of  Carlyle's,  who 
sang  it  with  great  enthusiasm.] 

Chorus. 

Sae  rantingly,  sae  wantonly, 
Sae  dauntingly  gaed  he. 

He  play'd  a  spring,  and  danc'd  it 
round 
Below  the  gallows-tree. 


I. 

Farewell,  ye   dungeons   dark  and 
strong, 

The  wretch's  destinie  ! 
M'Pherson's  time  will  not  be  long 

On  yonder  gallows-tree. 

II. 

O,  what  is  death  but  parting  breath  ? 

On  many  a  bloody  plain 
I  've  dar'd  his  face,  and  in  this  place 

I  scorn  him  yet  again  ! 


III. 


Untie  these  bands  from  off  my  hands, 
And  bring  to  me  my  sword. 

And   there 's  no  a  man  in  all  Scot- 
land 
But  I  '11  brave  him  at  a  word. 


IV. 


I  Ve  liv'd  a  life  of  sturt  and  strife ; 

I  die  by  treacherie  : 
It  burns  my  heart  I  must  depart, 


And  not  avenged  be. 


V. 


Now    farewell   light,   thou    sunshine 
bright, 

And  all  beneath  the  sky  ! 
May  coward  shame  distain  his  name, 

The  wretch  that  dare  not  die ! 

Chorus. 

Sae  rantingly,  sae  wantonly, 
Sae  dauntingly  gaed  he, 

He  play'd  a  spring,  and  danc'd  it 
round 
Below  the  gallows-tree. 


MY   HIGHLAND   LASSIE,   O. 

["  This  was  a  composition  of  mine  in 
very  early  life,  before  I  was  known  at  all  in 
the  world.  My  '  Highland  Lassie '  was  a 
warm-hearted  charming  young  creature  as 
ever  blessed  a  man  with  generous  love." 
(R.  B.)] 

Chorus. 
Within  the  glen  sae  bushy,  O, 
Aboon  the  plain  sae  rashy,  O, 
I  set  me  down  wi'  right  guid  will 
To  sing  my  Highland  lassie,  O  ! 


tho'  ne'er    sae 


I. 

Nae   gentle   dames, 

fair, 
Shall  ever  be  my  Muse's  care : 
Their  titles  a'  are  empty  show-- 
Gie  me  my  Highland  lassie,  O I 


THO'   CRUEL  FATE.  —  STRATHALLAN'S  LAMENT. 


225 


II. 


O,  were  yon  hills  and  vallies  mine, 
Yon  palace  and  yon  gardens  fine, 
The    world    then    the    love    should 

know 
I  bear  my  Highland  lassie,  O  ! 


III. 


But  fickle  Fortune  frowns  on  me, 
And  I  maun  cross  the  raging  sea ; 
But  while  my  crimson  currents  flow 
I  '11  love  my  Highland  lassie,  O. 


IV. 

Altho'  thro'  foreign  climes  I  range, 
I  know  her  heart  will  never  change; 
For  her  bosom  burns  with  honour's 

glow, 
My  faithful  Highland  lassie,  O. 


V. 

For  her  I  '11  dare  the  billows'  roar. 
For  her  I  '11  trace  a  distant  shore, 
That  Indian  wealth  may  lustre  throw 
Around  my  Highland  lassie,  O. 

VI. 

She  has  my  heart,  she  has  my  hand. 
My  secret  troth  and  honour's  band  ! 
'Till  the  mortal  stroke  shall  lay  me 

low, 
I  'm  thine,  my  Highland  lassie,  O  ! 

Chorus. 

Farewell  the  glen  sae  bushy,  O  ! 
Farewell  the  plain  sae  rashy,  O  ! 
To  other  lands  I  now  must  go 
To  sing  my  Highland  lassie,  O. 


THO'   CRUEL   FATE. 

[Written   for  Johnson's    "Musical   Mu- 
seum."] 

Tho'  cruel  fate  should  bid  us  part 
Far  as  the  pole  and  line, 

Q 


Her  dear  idea  round  my  heart 

Should  tenderly  entwine. 
Tho'    mountains    rise,    and    deserts 
howl, 

And  oceans  roar  between, 
Yet  dearer  than  my  deathless  soul 

I  still  would  love  my  Jean. 


STAY,  MY  CHARMER. 

[Written  for  Johnson's   "  Musical    Mu- 
seum."] 

I. 

Stay,  my  charmer,  can  you  leave  me  ? 
Cruel,  cruel  to  deceive  me  ! 
Well  you  know  how  much  you  grieve 
me : 

Cruel  charmer,  can  you  go  ? 

Cmel  charmer,  can  you  go  ? 

II. 

By  my  love  so  ill-requited. 

By  the  faith  you  fondly  plighted, 

By  the  pangs  of  lovers  slighted, 

Do  not,  do  not  leave  me  so  ! 

Do  not,  do  not  leave  me  so  ! 


STRATHALLAN'S   LAMENT. 

[The  Strathallan  of  the  "  Lament "  was 
James  Drummond,  eldest  son  of  William, 
4th  Viscount  Strathallan,  killed  at  Culloden, 
April  14,  1746.] 

I. 

Thickest  night,  surround  my  dwell- 
ing ! 

Howling  tempests,  o'er  me  rave  ! 
Turbid  torrents  wintry-swelling. 

Roaring  by  my  lonely  cave  ! 
Crystal  streamlets  gently  flowing. 

Busy  haunts  of  base  mankind, 
Western  breezes  softly  blowing. 

Suit  not  my  distracted  mind- 


226 


MY   HOGGIE.  — UP   IN  THE   MORNING   EARLY. 


II. 

In  the  cause  of  Right  engaged, 

Wrongs  injurious  to  redress, 
Honour's  war  we  strongly  waged, 

But  the  heavens  denyM  success. 
Ruin's  wheel  has  driven  o''er  us : 

Not  a  hope  that  dare  attend, 
The  wide  world  is  all  before  us, 

But  a  world  without  a  friend. 


MY   HOGGIE 

[Lines  written  to  an  old  air.  Burns  says  : 
"  No  person,  except  a  few  females  at  Moss- 
paul,  knew  this  fine  old  tune."] 


What  will  I  do  gin  my  hoggie  die  ? 

My  joy,  my  pride,  my  hoggie  ! 
My  only  beast,  I  had  nae  mae. 

And  vow  but  I  was  vogie  ! 
The   lee-lang   night  w'e  watched  the 
fauld, 

Me  and  my  faithfir  doggie  ; 
We  heard  nocht  but  the  roaring  linn 

Amang  the  braes  sae  scroggie. 

II. 

But  the  houlet   cry'd  frae  the  castle 
wa". 

The  blitter  frae  the  boggie. 
The  tod  reply'd  upon  the  hill : 

I  trembled  for  my  hoggie. 
When  day  did  daw,  and  cocks   did 
craw, 

The  morning  it  w'as  foggie, 
An  unco  tyke  lap  o'er  the  dyke. 

And  maist  has  kilPd  my  hoggie  ! 


JUMPIN   JOHN. 

[Fragment  of  an  old  humorous  ballad, 
with  verbal  corrections  by  Burns.] 

Chorus. 
The  lang  lad  they  ca'  Jumpin  John 

Beguird  the  bonie  lassie  ! 
The  lang  lad  they  ca'  Jumpin  John 

Beguird  the  bonie  lassie  ! 


Her  daddie  forbad,  her  minnie  for- 
bad ; 
Forbidden  she  wadna  be  : 
She  wadna   trow 't,   the   browst   she 
brew'd 
Wad  taste  sae  bitterlie  ! 


II. 

A  cow  and  a  cauf,  a  yowe  and  a  hauf, 
And  thretty  guid  shillins  and  three  : 

A  vera  guid  tocher!    a  cotter-man's 
dochter. 
The  lass  with  the  bonie  black  e'e  ! 

CJiorus. 

The  lang  lad  they  ca'  Jumpin  John 
Beguil'd  the  bonie  lassie  ! 

The  lang  lad  they  ca'  Jumpin  John 
Beguird  the  bonie  lassie  ! 


UP  IN  THE  MORNING  EARLY. 

["  The  chorus  of  this  song  is  old ;  the  two 
stanzas  are  mine."     (R.  B.)] 

Chorus. 

Up  in  the  morning 's  no  for  me, 

Up  in  the  morning  early! 
When  a'  the  hills  are  covered  wi'  snaw, 

I  'm  sure  it 's  winter  fairly! 


Cauld  blaws  the  wind  frae  east  to  west, 
The  drift  is  driving  sairly, 

Sae  loud  and  shrill 's  I  hear  the  blast  — 
I  'm  sure  it 's  winter  fairly  ! 

II. 

The  birds  sit  chittering  in  the  thorn, 
A'  day  they  fare  but  sparely  ; 

And   lang's   the   night   frae   e'en  to 
morn  — 
I  'm  sure  it 's  winter  fairly. 


THE  YOUNG   HIGHLAND   ROVER.  — I   DREAM'D    T    LAY. 


227 


C hones. 

Up  in  the  morning 's  no  for  me, 

Up  in  the  morning  early  ! 
When  a'  the  hills  are  covered  wi'  snaw, 

I  'm  sure  it 's  winter  fairly  ! 


THE  YOUNG  HIGHLAND 
ROVER. 

[Intended  to  commemorate  his  visit  to 
Castle  Gordon  in  1787.] 


Loud  blaw  the  frosty  breezes, 
The  snaws  the  mountains  cover. 

Like  winter  on  me  seizes, 

Since  my  young  Highland  rover 
Far  wanders  nations  over. 

Where'er  he  go,  where'er  he  stray, 
May  Heaven  be  his  warden  ! 

Return  him  sate  to  fair  Strathspey 
And  bonie  Castle  Gordon  ! 


II. 

The  trees,  now  naked  groaning. 
Shall  soon  wi'  leaves  be  hinging, 

The  birdies,  dowie  moaning. 
Shall  2l  be  blythely  singing. 
And  every  flower  be  springing: 

Sae  1  "11  rejoice  the  lee-lang  day, 
When  (by  his  mighty  Warden) 

My  youth  's  return^  to  fair  Strathspey 
And  bonie  Castle  Gordon. 


THE  DUSTY   MILLER. 

[Fragment  of  an  old  ballad,  with  verbal 
alterations  by  Burns.     Partly  traditional.] 


Hey  the  dusty  miller 
And  his  dusty  coat  ! 

He  will  spend  a  shilling 
Or  he  win  a  groat. 


Dusty  was  the  coat, 
Dusty  was  the  colour, 

Dusty  was  the  kiss 
That  I  gat  frae  the  miller  ! 


II. 

Hey  the  dusty  miller 

And  his  dusty  sack  ! 
Leeze  me  on  the  calling 

Fills  the  dusty  peck  ! 
Fills  the  dusty  peck. 

Brings  the  dusty  siller  ! 
I  wad  gie  my  coatie 

For  the  dusty  miller  ! 


I    DREAM'D    I    LAY. 

["  These  two  stanzas  I  composed  when 
I  was  seventeen  ;  they  are  among  the  oldest 
of  my  printed  pieces."     (R.  B.)] 


I  DREAMED  I  lay  where  flowers  were 
springing 
Gaily  in  the  sunny  beam, 
Listening  to  the  wild  birds  singing. 

By  a  falling  crystal  stream  ; 
Straight    the    sky    grew    black    and 
daring, 
Thro'    the   woods    the   whirlwinds 
rave, 
Trees  with  aged  arms  were  warring 
O'er  the  swelling,  drumlie  wave. 


II. 

Such  was  my  life's  deceitful  morning. 

Such  the  pleasures  I  enjoy'd  ! 
But    lang    or    noon    loud    tempests, 
storming, 

A'  my  flowery  bliss  destroyed. 
Tho'  fickle  Fortune  has  deceived  me 

(She  promis'd  fair,  and  performed 
but  ill). 
Of  monie  a  joy  and  hope  bereav'd  me, 

I  bear  a  heart  shall  support  me  still. 


228 


DUNCAN   DAVISON.  — LADY   ONLIE,   HONEST  LUCKY. 


DUNCAN   DAVISON. 

[Stenhouse  afifirms  that  this  song  is  by 
Burns,  although  he  did  not  choose  to  avow 
it.] 

I. 

There  was  a  lass,  they  ca'd  her  Meg, 

And  she  held  o'er  the  moors  to  spin ; 
There  was  a  lad  that  followed  her, 

They  ca'd  him  Duncan  Davison. 
The  moor  was  dreigh,  and  Meg  was 
skeigh, 

Her  favour  Duncan  could  na  win ; 
For  wi'  the  rock  she  wad  him  knock, 

And  ay  she  shook  the  temper-pin. 

II. 

As  o'er  the  moor  they  lightly  foor, 

A  burn  was  clear,  a  glen  was  green  ; 
Upon   the    banks    they    eas'd    their 
shanks. 

And  ay  she  set  the  wheel  between : 
But  Duncan  swoor  a  haly  aith, 

That  Meg  should  be  a  bride  the 
morn ; 
Then  Meg  took  up  her  spinnin-graith, 

And  flang  them  a'  out  o'er  the  burn. 

III. 

We  wdll  big  a  wee,  wee  house. 

And  we  will  live  like  king  and  queen, 
Sae  blythe  and  merry  's  we  will  be. 

When  ye  set  by  the  wheel  at  e'en  ! 
A  man  may  drink,  and  no  be  drunk ; 

A  man  may  fight,  and  no  be  slain ; 
A  man  may  kiss  a  bonie  lass, 

And  ay  be  welcome  back  again  ! 


THENIEL   MENZIES'   BONIE 
MARY. 

["  Nothing  is  kno\vn  of  this  Aberdeen- 
shire beauty."  —  ANDREW  LANG.] 

Chorus. 

Theniel  Menzies'  bonie  Mary, 
Theniel  Menzies'  bonie  Mary, 
Charlie  Grigor  tint  his  plaidie, 
Kissin  Theniel's  bonie  Mary  ! 


I. 


In  comin  by  the  brig  o'  Dye, 
At  Darlet  we  a  blink  did  tarry; 

As  day  was  dawin  in  the  sky. 

We  drank  a  health  to  bonie  Mary. 


II. 


Her  een  sae  bright,  her  brow  sae  white 
Her  haffet  locks  as  brown 's  a  berry, 

And  ay  they  dimpFt  wi'  a  smile. 
The  rosy  cheeks  o'  bonie  Mary. 

III. 

We  lap  an'  danc'd  the  lee-lang  day, 
Till  piper-lads  were  wae  and  weary  ; 

But  Charlie  gat  the  spring  to  pay, 
For  kissin  Theniel's  bonie  Mary. 

Chorus. 

Theniel  Menzies'  bonie  Mary, 
Theniel  Menzies'  bonie  Mary, 
Charlie  Grigor  tint  his  plaidie, 
Kissin  Theniel's  bonie  Mary  ! 


LADY  ONLIE,  HONEST  LUCKY. 

["  Burns  probably  picked  up  the  chorus 
during  his  northern  tour."] 

Chorus. 

Lady  Onlie,  honest  lucky. 

Brews  guid  ale  at  shore  o'  Bucky : 
I  wish  her  sale  for  her  guid  ale, 

The  best  on  a'  the  shore  o'  Bucky  ! 

I. 

A'  THE  lads  o'  Thorniebank, 
When   they   gae   to   the   shore  o' 
Bucky, 

They  '11  step  in  an'  tak  a  pint 
Wi'  Lady  Onlie,  honest  lucky. 

II. 

Her  house  sae  bien,  her  curch  sae 
clean  — 
I  wat  she  is  a  dainty  chuckle. 


THE  BANKS  OF  THE  DEVON.  —  DUNCAN  GRAY. 


229 


And  cheery  blinks  the  ingle-gleede 
O'  Lady  Onlie,  honest  lucky  ! 

CJiorus. 

Lady  Onlie,  honest  lucky, 

Brews  guid  ale  at  shore  o'  Bucky  : 
I  wish  her  sale  for  her  guid  ale. 

The  best  on  a'  the  shore  o'  Bucky  ! 


THE  BANKS  OF  THE  DEVON. 

["These  verses  were  composed  on  a 
charming  girl,  a  Miss  Charlotte  Hamilton. 
I  first  heard  the  air  from  a  lady  in  Inver- 
ness."    (R.  B.)] 


I. 

How  pleasant  the  banks  of  the  clear 
winding  Devon, 
With  green  spreading  bushes  and 
flow'rs  blooming  fair  ! 
But  the  boniest  flow'r  on  the  banks 
of  the  Devon 
Was  once  a  sweet  bud  on  the  braes 
of  the  Ayr. 
Mild  be  the  sun  on  this  sweet  blush- 
ing flower. 
In  the  gay  rosy  morn,  as  it  bathes 
in  the  dew  ! 
And  gentle  the  fall  of  the  soft  vernal 
shower, 
That  steals  on  the   evening   each 
leaf  to  renew  ! 


n. 

O.  spare  the  dear  blossom,  ye  orient 
breezes. 
With  chill,  hoary  wing  as  ye  usher 
the  dawn  ! 

And  far  be  thou  distant,  thou  reptile 
that  seizes 
The  verdure  and  pride  of  the  gar- 
den or  lawn  ! 

Let  Bourbon  exult  in  his  gay  gilded 
lilies, 


And  England    triumphant   display 

her  proud  rose  ! 
A  fairer  than  either  adorns  the  green 

vallies. 
Where  Devon,  sweet  Devon,  mean- 


dering flows. 


DUNCAN   GRAY. 


[Founded  on  a  song  preserved   in  the 
Herd  Ms.  with  variations  by  Burns.] 


I. 

Weary  fa'  you,  Duncan  Gray  ! 

(Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o  't !) 
Wae  gae  by  you,  Duncan  Gray  ! 

(Ha.  ha.  the  girdin  o  't !) 
When  a'  the  lave  gae  to  their  play, 
Then  I  maun  sit  the  lee-lang  day, 
And  jeeg  the  cradle  wi'  my  tae. 

And  a'  for  the  girdin  o  't  ! 


II. 

Bonie  was  the  Lammas  moon 

(Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o  't !), 
Glowrin  a'  the  hills  aboon 

(Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o 't !). 
The  girdin  brak,  the  beast  cam  down, 
I  tint  my  curch  and  baith  my  shoon, 
And,  Duncan,  ye  "re  an  unco  ioun  — 

Wae  on  the  bad  girdin  o  't ! 


III. 

But  Duncan,  gin  ye  "11  keep  your  aith 

(Ha.  ha,  the  girdin  o  *t !), 
I  "se  bless  you  wi'  my  hindmost  breath 

(  Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o  't  !). 
Duncan,  gin  ye  11  keep  your  aith. 
The  beast  again  can  bear  us  baith. 
And  auld  Mess  John  will  mend  the 
skaith 
And  clout  the  bad  girdin  o  't. 


230    THE   PLOUGHMAN.— RAVING   WINDS   AROUND   HER   BLOWING, 


THE   PLOUGHMAN. 

[Founded  on  a  coarse  old  song  preserved 
in  "  The  Merry  Muses."] 

Chorus. 

Then  up  wi't  a\  my  ploughman  lad, 
And  hey.  my  merry  ploughman  ! 

Of  a'  the  trades  that  I  do  ken, 
Commend  me  to  the  ploughman ! 

I. 

The  ploughman,  he 's  a  bonie  lad, 

His  mind  is  ever  true,  jo  ! 
His  garters  knit  below  his  knee, 
His  bonnet  it  is  blue,  jo. 
• 
II. 

I  hae  been  east,  I  hae  been  west, 
I  hae  been  at  St.  Johnston ; 

The  boniest  sight  that  e'er  I  saw 
Was  the  ploughman  laddie  dancin. 

III. 

Snaw^-white  stockings  on  his  legs 
And  siller  buckles  glancin, 

A  guid  blue  bonnet  on  his  head, 
And  O,  but  he  was  handsome  ! 

IV. 

Commend  me  to  the  barn-yard 

And  the  corn  mou,  man  ! 
I  never  got  my  coggie  fou 

Till  I  met  wi'  the  ploughman. 

Chorus. 

Then  up  wi 't  a\  my  ploughman  lad. 
And  hey,  my  merry  ploughman  ! 

Of  a'  the  trades  that  I  do  ken, 
Commend  me  to  the  ploughman  ! 


LANDLADY,   COUNT   THE 
LAWIN. 

["  I  have  met  the  tradition  universally 
over    Scotland    that    this  air   was    Robert 


Bruce's  march  to  Bannockburn."  (R.  B.) 
Burns  afterwards  wrote  "  Scots  Wha  Hae" 
to  it.] 

Chorus. 

Hey  tutti,  taiti, 
How  tutti,  taita, 
Hey  tutti,  taiti, 
Wha's  fou  now? 


Landlady,  count  the  lawin. 
The  day  is  near  the  dawin ; 
Ye 're  a'  blind  drunk,  boys. 
And  I  'm  but  jolly  fou. 

II. 

Cog,  an  ye  were  ay  fou. 
Cog,  an  ye  were  ay  fou, 
I  wad  sit  and  sing  to  you, 
If  ye  were  ay  fou  ! 

III. 

Weel  may  ye  a'  be  ! 
Ill  may  ye  never  see  ! 
God  bless  the  king 
And  the  companie  ! 

Chorus. 

Hey  tutti,  taiti, 
How  tutti,  taiti, 
Hey  tutti,  taiti, 
Wha 's  fou  now  ? 


RAVING   WINDS    AROUND 
HER   BLOWING. 

["  I  composed  these  verses  on  Miss 
Isabella  Macleod  of  Rasa,  alluding  to  her 
feelings  on  the  death  of  her  sister."     (R.  B. )] 


Raving  winds  around  her  blowing. 
Yellow  leaves  the  woodlands  strow- 

ing, 
By  a  river  hoarsely  roaring, 
Isabella  stray'd  deploring  :  — 


HOW  LANG  AND  DREARY  IS  THE  NIGHT.  — BLYTHE  WAS  SHE.     231 


'  Farewell  hours  that  late  did  measure 
Sunshine  days  of  joy  and  pleasure  ! 
Hail,  thou  gloomy  night  of  sorrow  — 
Cheerless  night  that  knows  no  mor- 
row ! 


II. 

'  O'er  the  Past  too  fondly  wandering. 
On  the  hopeless  Future  pondering, 
Chilly  (irief  my  life-blood  freezes, 
Fell  Despair  my  fancy  seizes. 
Life,  thou  soul  of  every  blessing, 
Load  to  Misery  most  distressing, 
Gladly  how  would  I  resign  thee. 
And  to  dark  Oblivion  join  thee  ! ' 


HOW   LANG   AND  DREARY  IS 
THE   NIGHT. 

["  I  met  with  some  such  words  in  a  col- 
lection of  songs  somewhere,  which  I  altered 
and  enlarged."     (R.  B.)] 

Chorus. 

For  O,  her  lanely  nights  are  lang, 
And  O,  her  dreams  are  eerie, 

And  O,  her  widow'd  heart  is  sair, 
That 's  absent  frae  her  dearie  ! 

I. 

How  lang  and  dreary  is  the  night, 
When  I  am  frae  my  dearie  ! 

I  restless  lie  frae  e'en  to  morn, 
Tho'  I  were  ne'er  sae  weary. 

II. 

When  I  think  on  the  lightsome  days 
I  spent  wi'  thee,  my  dearie. 

And  now  what  seas  between  us  roar. 
How  can  I  be  but  eerie? 

III. 

How  slow  ye  move,  ye  heavy  hours  ! 

The  joyless  day  how  dreary  ! 
It  was  na  sae  ye  glinted  by. 

When  I  was  wi'  my  dearie  ! 


Chorus. 

For  O,  her  lanely  nights  are  lang. 
And  O,  her  dreams  are  eerie. 

And  O,  her  widow'd  heart  is  sair. 
That 's  absent  frae  her  dearie ! 


MUSING   ON   THE   ROARING 
OCEAN. 

["  I  composed  these  verses  out  of  com- 
pliment to  a  Mrs.  M'Lachlan,  whose  hus- 
band is  an  officer  in  the  East  Indies." 
(R.B.)] 


Musing  on  the  roaring  ocean, 
Which  divides  my  love  and  me. 

Wearying  heav'n  in  warm  devotion 
For  his  weal  where'er  he  be  : 

II. 

Hope  and  Fear's  alternate  billow 
Yielding  late  to  Nature's  law. 

Whispering  spirits  round  my  pillow 
Talk  of  him  that 's  far  awa. 

III. 

Ye  whom  sorrow^  never  wounded. 
Ye  who  never  shed  a  tear. 

Care-untroubled,  joy-surrounded, 
Gaudy  day  to  you  is  dear  ! 

IV. 

Gentle  night,  do  thou  befriend  me  ! 

Downy  sleep,  the  curtain  draw  ! 
Spirits  kind,  again  attend  me. 

Talk  of  him  that 's  far  awa  ! 


BLYTHE   WAS    SHE. 

["  I  composed  these  verses  while  I  stayed 
at  Ochtertvre  with  Sir  William  Murray. 
The  lady  was  Miss  Euphemia  Murray  of 
Lintrose,  who  was  called,  and  very  justly, 
'  the  flower  of  Strathmore.'  "     (R.  B.)] 


232 


TO   DAUNTON   ME.  — O'ER  THE   WATER  TO  CHARLIE. 


Chorus. 

Blythe,  blythe  and  merry  was  she, 
Blythe  was  she  butt  and  ben, 

Blythe  by  the  banks  of  Earn, 
And  blythe  in  Glenturit  glen  ! 

I. 

By  Oughtertyre  grows  the  aik, 

On  Yarrow  banks  the  birken  shaw  ; 

But  Phemie  was  a  bonier  lass 
Than  braes  o'  Yarrow  ever  saw. 


II. 

Her  looks  were  like  a  flowV  in  May, 
Her  smile  was  like  a  simmer  morn. 

She  tripped  by  the  banks  o'  Earn 
As  light 's  a  bird  upon  a  thorn. 

III. 

Her  bonie  face  it  was  as  meek 

As  onie  lamb  upon  a  lea. 
The  evening  sun  was  ne'er  sae  sweet 

As  was  the  blink  o'  Phemie's  e'e. 


IV. 

The    Highland   hills   I  've  wander'd 
wide, 

As  o'er  the  Lawlands  I  hae  been-. 
But  Phemie  was  the  blythest  lass 

That  ever  trod  the  dewy  green. 

Chorus. 

Blythe,  blythe  and  merry  was  she, 
Blythe  was  she  butt  and  ben, 

Blythe  by  the  banks  of  Earn, 
And  blythe  in  Glenturit  Glen  ! 


TO   DAUNTON   ME. 

[Variation  from  an  old  Jacobite  song.] 

Chorus. 

To  daunton  me,  to  daunton  me, 

An  auld  man  shall  never  daunton  me  ! 


The  blude-red  rose  at  Yule  may  blaw, 
The  simmer  lilies  bloom  in  snaw. 
The  frost  may  freeze  the  deepest  sea, 
But  an  auld  man  shall  never  daunton 
me. 

II. 

To  daunton  me,  and  me  sae  young, 
Wi'    his    fause   heart   and    flatt'ring 

tongue : 
That  is  the  thing  you  ne'er  shall  see, 
For  an  auld  man  shall  never  daunton 


me. 


III. 


For  a'  his  meal  and  a'  his  maut, 
For  a'  his  fresh  beef  and  his  saut, 
For  a'  his  gold  and  white  monie, 
An  auld  man  shall  never  daunton  me. 

IV. 

His  gear  may  buy  him  kye  and  yowes, 
His   gear   may   buy   him   glens   and 

knowes ; 
But  me  he  shall  not  buy  nor  fee, 
For  an  auld  man  shall  never  daunton 

me. 

V. 

He  hirples  twa-fauld  as  he  dow, 

Wi'  his  teethless  gab  and  his  auld 

beld  pow, 
And  the  rain  rains  down  frae  his  red 

blear'd  e'e  — 
That  auld  man  shall  never  daunton 


me 


Chorus. 


To  daunton  me,  to  daunton  me. 

An  auld  man  shall  never  daunton  me  ! 


O'ER   THE   WATER   TO 
CHARLIE. 

[The  "  verses,"  Stenhouse  says,  "  were 
revised  and  improved  by  Burns."  They 
appear  in  Hogg's  "  Jacobite  Reliques."] 

Chorus. 
We'll  o'er  the  water,  we'll  o'er  the 
sea. 


A   ROSE-BUD.  —  AND   I'LL  KISS  THEE   YET. 


233 


We  '11  o'er  the  water  to  Charlie  ! 
Come  weal,  come  woe,  we  "11  gather 
and  go, 
And  live  and  die  wi'  Charlie  ! 


me 


I. 

o'er. 


come   row  me 


Come  boat 
o'er, 

Come  boat  me  o'er  to  Charlie  ! 
I  '11  gie  John  Ross  another  bawbee 

To  boat  me  o'er  to  Charlie. 

II. 

I  lo'e  weel  my  Charlie's  name, 
Tho'  some  there  be  abhor  him  ; 

But  O,  to  see  Auld  Nick  gaun  hame. 
And  Charlie's  faes  before  him  ! 

III. 

I  swear  and  vow  by  moon  and  stars 
And  sun  that  shines  so  early, 

If  I  had  twenty  thousand  lives, 
I  'd  die  as  aft  for  Charlie  ! 

Chorus. 

We  '11  o'er  the  water,  we  '11  o'er  the  sea, 

We  '11  o'er  the  water  to  Charlie  ! 
Come  weal,  come  woe,  we  '11  gather  and 

And  live  and  die  wi'  Charlie  ! 


A    ROSE-BUD,   BY   MY   EARLY 
WALK. 

["This  song  I  composed  on  Miss  Jenny 
Cruickshank,  the  only  child  of  my  worthy 
friend,  Mr.  William  Cruickshank,  of  the 
High  School,  Edinburgh."     (R.  B.)] 


A  ROSE-BUD,  by  my  early  walk 
Adown  a  corn-inclosed  bawk, 
Sae  gently  bent  its  thorny  stalk. 

All  on  a  dewy  morning. 
Ere  twice  the  shades  o'  dawn  are  fled. 
In  a'  its  crimson  glory  spread 
And  drooping  rich  the  dewy  head, 

It  scents  the  early  morning. 


II. 

Within  the  bush  her  covert  nest 

A  little  linnet  fondly  prest, 

The  dew  sat  chilly  on  her  breast, 

Sae  early  in  the  morning. 
She  soon  shall  see  her  tender  brood, 
The  pride,  the  pleasure  o"  the  wood, 
Amang  the  fresh  green  leaves  bedew'd. 

Awake  the  early  morning. 

III. 

So  thou,  dear  bird,  young  Jeany  fair, 
On  trembling  string  or  vocal  air 
Shall  sweetly  pay  the  tender  care 

That  tents  thy  early  morning  ! 
So  thou,  sweet  rose-bud,  young  and 

gay, 

Shalt  beauteous  blaze  upon  the  day. 
And  bless  the  parent's  evening  ray 
That  watch'd  thy  early  morning  ! 


AND   I'LL  KISS   THEE   YET. 

["  Spoken  of  by  Burns  as  '  Juvenile.'  Mr. 
Scott  Douglas  plausibly  conjectures  that 
Peggy,  in  this  piece,  is  really  Ellison,  or  Ali- 
son, Begbie.  Some  suppose  the  heroine-  to 
have  been  Mary  Campbell.  The  first  verse 
is  not  in  Johnson's  copy  ('  Museum,'  ii.  1788) , 
and  was  first  given  by  Cromek."] 

Chorus. 

And  I  '11  kiss  thee  yet,  yet. 
And  1  '11  kiss  thee  o'er  again. 

And  I  '11  kiss  thee  yet,  yet, 
My  bonie  Peggy  Alison. 


Ilk  care  and  fear,  when  thou  art  near, 

I  evermair  defy  them.  O  ! 
Young  kings  upon  their  hansel  throne 

Are  no  sae  blest  as  I  am,  O  ! 

II. 

When  in  my  arms,  wi'  a'  thy  charms, 
I  clasp  my  countless  treasure,  O, 

I  seek  nae  mair  o'  Heav'n  to  share 
Than  sic  a  moment's  pleasure,  O  ! 


234     RATTLIN,    ROARIN   WILLIE.— O  TIBBIE,  I  HAE  SEEN  THE  DAY. 


Ill 

And  by  thy  een  sae  bonie  blue 
I  swear  I  'm  thine  for  ever,  O  ! 

And  on  thy  lips  I  seal  my  vow, 
And  break  it  shall  I  never,  O  ! 

Chorus, 

And  I  '11  kiss  thee  yet,  yet, 
And  I  '11  kiss  thee  o'er  again, 

And  I  '11  kiss  thee  yet,  yet, 
My  bonie  Peggy  Alison. 


RATTLIN,   ROARIN   WILLIE. 

["The  last  stanza  of  this  song  is  mine; 
it  was  composed  out  of  compliment  to  one 
of  the  worthiest  fellows  in  the  world,  William 
Dunbar,  Esq.,  Writer  to  the  Signet,  Edin- 
burgh."    (R.  B.)] 


I. 


O,  RATTLIN,  roarin  Willie, 

O,  he  held  to  the  fair, 
An'  for  to  sell  his  fiddle 

And  buy  some  other  ware ; 
But  parting  wi'  his  fiddle, 

The  saut  tear  blin't  his  e'e  — 
And,  rattlin,  roarin  Willie, 

Ye  're  welcome  hame  to  me  ! 


II. 

'  O  Willie,  come  sell  your  fiddle, 

O,  sell  your  fiddle  sae  fine ! 
O  Willie,  come  sell  your  fiddle 

And  buy  a  pint  o'  wine  ! ' 
'  If  I  should  sell  my  fiddle, 

The  warld  would  think  I  was  mad ; 
For  monie  a  rantin  day 

My  fiddle  and  I  hae  had.' 

III. 

As  I  cam  by  Crochallan, 

I  cannily  keekit  ben, 
Rattlin,  roarin  Willie 

Was  sitting  at  yon  boord-en' : 


Sitting  at  yon  boord-en'. 
And  amang  guid  companie  ! 

Rattlin,  roarin  Willie, 

Ye  're  welcome  hame  to  me. 


WHERE,   BRAVING   ANGRY 
WINTER'S    STORMS. 

[The  heroine  was  Margaret,  daughter  of 
John  Chalmers  of  Fingland,  and  a  cousin  of 
Charlotte  Hamilton,  her  particular  fiiend.] 


Where,     braving     angry     winter's 
storms. 

The  lofty  Ochils  rise. 
Far  in  their  shade  my  Peggy's  charms 

First  blest  my  wondering  eyes  : 
As  one  who  by  some  savage  stream 

A  lonely  gem  surveys, 
Astonished  doubly,  marks  it  beam 

With  art's  most  polish'd  blaze. 

II. 

Blest  be  the  wild,  sequester'd  glade, 

And  blest  the  day  and  hour. 
Where  Peggy's  charms  I  first  survey'd. 

When  first  I  felt  their  pow'r  ! 
The  tyrant  Death  with  grim  control 

May  seize  my  fleeting  breath. 
But  tearing  Peggy  from  my  soul 

Must  be  a  stronger  death. 


O   TIBBIE,    I    HAE    SEEN    THE 
DAY. 

[Mrs.  Begg  states  that  the  heroine  was 
one  Isabella  Steenson,  or  Stevenson,  the 
farmer's  daughter  of  Little  Hill,  which 
marched  with  Lochlie.J 

Chorus. 

O  Tibbie,  I  hae  seen  the  day, 
Ye  wadna  been  sae  shy  ! 

For  laik  o'  gear  ye  lightly  me. 
But,  trowth,  I  care  na  by. 


HIGHLAND    HARRY.— THE  TAILOR   FELL  THRO'   THE   BED.      237 


I  care  na  thy  kin,  sae  high  and  sae 

lordly ; 
But  say  that  thou  'It  hae  me  for  better 

or  waur, 
And  come  in  thy  coatie,  sweet  Tibbie 

Dunbar. 


HIGHLAND   HARRY. 

["  The  chorus  I  picked  up  from  an  old 
woman  in  Dunblane.  The  rest  of  the  song 
is  mine."     (R.  B.)] 

Chorus. 

O,  for  him  back  again  ! 

O,  for  him  back  again  ! 

I  wad  gie  a'  Knockhaspie's  land 

For  Highland  Harry  back  again. 


I. 

My  Harry  was  a  gallant  gay, 

Fu'  stately  strade  he  on  the  plain, 

But  now  he 's  banish'd  far  away : 
I  '11  never  see*hini  back  again. 

II. 

When  a'  the  lave  gae  to  their  bed, 
I  wander  dowie  up  the  glen, 

I  set  me  down,  and  greet  my  fill. 
And  ay  I  wish  him  back  again. 

III. 

O,  were  some  villains  hangit  high, 
And  ilka  body  had  their  ain, 

Then  I  might  see  the  joyfu'  sight. 
My  Highland  Harry  back  again  ! 

Chorus. 

O,  for  him  back  again  ! 

O,  for  him  back  again  ! 

I  wad  gie  a'  Knockhaspie's  land, 

For  Highland  Harry  back  again. 


THE   TAILOR    FELL   THRO' 
THE    BED. 

["  This  air  is  the  march  of  the  Corpora- 
tion of  Tailors.  The  second  and  fourth 
stanzas  are  mine."     (R.  B.)] 


The  tailor  fell  thro'  the  bed,  thimble 

an'  a', 
The  tailor  fell  thro'  the  bed,  thimble 

an'  a' ; 
The    blankets    were    thin,   and    the 

sheets  they  were  sma'  — 
The  tailor  fell  thro'  the  bed,  thimble 

an'  a' ! 

II. 

The   sleepy  bit   lassie,   she   dreaded 

nae  ill. 
The   sleepy  bit   lassie,   she   dreaded 

nae  ill ; 
The  weather  was  cauld,  and  the  lassie 

lay  still : 
She  thought  that  a  tailor  could  do  her 

nae  ill ! 

III. 

Gie  me  the  groat  again,  cannie  young 

man  ! 
Gie  me  the  groat  again,  cannie  young 

man  ! 
The  day  it  is  short,  and  the  night  it 

is  lang  — 
The  dearest  siller  that  ever  I  wan  ! 


IV. 

There's  somebody  weary  wi'  lying 

her  lane. 
There 's   somebody   weary  wi'   lying 

her  lane  ! 
There  's  some  that  are  dowie,  I  trow 

wad  be  fain 
To  see  the  bit  tailor  come  sklppin 

asfain. 


238 


AY   WAUKIN,   O.— LADDIE,   LIE  NEAR   ME. 


AY   WAUKIN,    O. 

[An  old  ballad  supposed  to  have  been 
adapted  by  Burns.] 

Chonis. 

Ay  waukin,  O, 

Waukin  still  and  weary : 
Sleep  I  can  get  nane 

For  thinking  on  my  dearie. 

I. 

Simmer  's  a  pleasant  time  : 
Flowers  of  every  colour, 

The  water  rins  owre  the  heugh, 
And  I  long  for  my  true  lover. 

II. 

When  I  sleep  I  dream, 
When  I  wauk  I  'm  eerie, 

Sleep  I  can  get  nane 

For  thinkin  on  my  dearie. 

III. 

Lanely  night  comes  on, 

A'  the  lave  are  sleepin, 
I  think  on  my  bonie  lad. 

And  I  bleer  my  een  wi'  greetin. 

Chorus. 

Ay  waukin,"  O, 

Waukin  still  and  weary : 
Sleep  I  can  get  nane 

For  thinking  on  my  dearie. 


BEWARE   O'   BONIE   ANN. 

["  I  composed  this  song  out  of  compli- 
ment to  Miss  Ann  Masterton,  the  daughter 
of  my  friend  Allan  Masterton."     (R.  B.)] 

I. 

Ye  gallants  bright,  I  rede  you  right, 

Beware  o'  bonie  Ann  ! 
Her  comely  face  sae  fu*  o"'  grace. 

Your  heart  she  will  trepan. 


II. 

Her    een   sae   bright    like   stars    by 
night, 

Her  skin  is  like  the  swan. 
Sae  jimply  lac'd  her  genty  waist 

That  sweetly  ye  might  span. 


III. 

Youth,   Grace,   and   Love   attendant 
move. 
And  Pleasure  leads  the  van : 
In   a'  their   charms,  and  conquering 
arms, 
They  wait  on  bonie  Ann. 

IV. 

The   captive   bands    may   chain   the 
hands. 

But  Love  enslaves  the  man : 
Ye  gallants  braw,  I  rede  you  a', 

Beware  o'  bonie  Ann  ! 


LADDIE,   LIE   NEAR   ME. 

[An  old  ballad,  probably  amended  and 
condensed  by  Burns.] 

Chorus. 

Near  me,  near  me, 
Laddie,  lie  near  me  1 
Lang  hae  I  lain  my  lane  — 
Laddie,  lie  near  me  ! 


Lang  hae  we  parted  been, 
Laddie,  my  dearie ; 

Now  we  are  met  again  — 
Laddie,  lie  near  me  ! 

II. 

A'  that  I  hae  endur'd, 
Laddie,  my  dearie. 

Here  in  thy  arms  is  cur'd  — 
Laddie,  lie  near  me  ! 


THE  GARD'NER    Wl'    HIS   PAIDLE.  — THE   DAY    RETURNS.       239 


Chorus. 

Near  me,  near  me, 
Laddie,  lie  near  me  ! 
Lang  hae  I  lain  my  lane — 
Laddie,  lie  near  me  ! 


THE   GARD'NER   WF   HIS 
PAIDLE. 

["  The  title  of  the  song  is  old;  the  rest  is 
mine."     (R.  B.)] 


When  rosy  May  comes  in  wi'  flowers 
To   deck   her    gay,    green-spreading 

bowers. 
Then  busy,  busy  are  his  hours. 

The  gard'ner  \vi'  his  paidle. 

II. 

The  crystal  waters  gently  fa', 
The  merry  birds  are  lovers  a\ 
The  scented  breezes  round  him  blaw  — 
The  gard'ner  wi'  his  paidle. 

III. 

When  purple  morning  starts  the  hare 
To  steal  upon  her  early  fare, 
Then  thro*  the  dew  he  maun  repair  — 
The  gard'ner  wi'  his  paidle. 

IV. 

When  Day,  expiring  in  the  west, 
The  curtain  draws  o'  Nature's  rest, 
He  flies  to  her  arms  he  lo'es  best. 
The  gard'ner  wi'  his  paidle. 


ON   A    BANK   OF   FLOWERS. 

[The  original  was  written  by  Theobald. 
Variation  by  Bums.] 


On  a  bank  of  flowers  in  a  summer 
day, 
For  summer  lightly  drest, 


The  youthful,  blooming  Nelly  lay 

With  love  and  sleep  opprest ; 
When    Willie,   wand'ring    thro'   the 

wood, 
Who  for  her  favour  oft  had  sued  — 
He  gaz'd,  he  wish'd. 
He  fear'd,  he  blush'd, 
And  trembled  where  he  stood. 


II. 


Her 


closed     eyes,     like     weapons 
sheath'd. 
Were  seal'd  in  soft  repose  ; 
Her  lips,  still  as  she  fragrant  breath'd. 

It  richer  dyed  the  rose  ; 
The  springing  lilies,  sweetly  prest, 
Wild-wanton  kissxl  her  rival  breast : 
He  gaz'd,  he  wish'd. 
He  fear'd,  he  blush'd, 
His  bosom  ill  at  rest. 

III. 

Her  robes,  light-waving  in  the  breeze. 

Her  tender  limbs  embrace  ; 
Her  lovely  form,  her  native  ease, 

All  harmony  and  grace. 
Tumultuous  tides  his  pulses  roll, 
A  faltering,  ardent  kiss  he  stole : 
He  gaz'd,  he  wish'd, 
He  fear'd,  he  blush'd, 
And  sigh'd  his  very  soul. 

IV. 

As  flies  the  partridge  from  the  brake 

On  fear-inspired  wings. 
So  Nelly  starting,  half-awake. 

Away  aff'righted  springs. 
But  Willie  follow'd  —  as  he  should ; 
He  overtook  her  in  the  wood ; 
He  vow'd,  he  pray'd, 
He  found  the  maid 
Forgiving  all,  and  good. 


THE   DAY   RETURNS. 

["  I  composed  this  song  out  of  compli- 
ment to  one  of  the  happiest  and  worthiest 


240     MY  LOVE,  SHE'S  BUT  A  LASSIE  YET.  — JAMIE,  COME  TRY  ME. 


couples    in    the    world,  —  Robert    Riddell, 
Esq.,  of  Glenriddell,  and  his  lady."  (R.  B.)] 

I. 

The  day  returns,  my  bosom  burns, 

The  blissful  day  we  twa  did  meet ! 
Tho'  winter  wild  in  tempest  toil'd. 
Ne'er   summer    sun   was   half  sae 
sweet. 
Than  a'  the  pride  that  loads  the  tide. 

And  crosses  o'er  the  sultry  line, 
Than  kingly  robes,  than  crowns  and 
globes, 
Heaven  gave  me   more  —  it   made 
thee  mine  ! 

II. 

While  day  and  night  can  bring  de- 
light. 

Or  Nature  aught  of  pleasure  give, 
While  joys  above  my  mind  can  move, 

For  thee,  and  thee  alone,  I  live  ! 
When  that  grim  foe  ot  Life  below 

Comes  in  between  to  make  us  part. 
The  iron  hand  that  breaks  our  band. 

It  breaks  my  bliss,  it   breaks  my 
heart ! 


MY    LOVE,    SHE'S    BUT    A 
LASSIE   YET. 

["  The  title  and  the  last  half  stanza  of 
this  song,"  says  Stenhouse,  "  are  old ;  the 
rest  was  composed  by  Burns."] 

Chorus. 

My  love,  she 's  but  a  lassie  yet, 
My  love,  she 's  but  a  lassie  yet ! 
We  Ul  let  her  stand  a  year  or  twa, 
She  '11  no  be  half  sae  saucy  yet ! 

I. 

I  RUE  the  day  I  sought  her,  O ! 
I  rue  the  day  I  sought  her,  O  ! 
Wha  gets    her    need    na    say   he 's 

woo'd. 
But   he   may   say   he   has   bought 

her,  O. 


II. 

Come  draw  a  drap  o'  the  best  o  't 

yet. 
Come  draw  a  drap  o'  the  best  o  't 
yet  ! 
Gae  seek  for  pleasure  whare  ye  will, 
But  here  I  never  missed  it  yet. 

III. 

We  're  a'  dry  wi'  drinkin  o  't. 
We  're  a'  dry  wi'  drinkin  o  't  ! 
The     minister    kiss't     the    fiddler's 
wife  — 
He   could   na   preach    for   thinkin 
o't! 

Chorus. 

My  love,  she  's  but  a  lassie  yet. 
My  love,  she  's  but  a  lassie  yet  ! 
We'll  let  her  stand  a  year  or  twa, 
She  '11  no  be  half  sae  saucy  yet  \ 


JAMIE,   COME   TRY   ME. 

[The  original  was  probably  related  to  a 
blackletter,  entitled  "  The  New  Scotch  Jig, 
or  the  Bonny  Cravat."] 

Chorus. 

Jamie,  come  try  me, 
Jamie,  come  try  me  ! 
If  thou  would  win  my  love, 
Jamie,  come  try  me  ! 


If  thou  should  ask  my  love, 
Could  I  deny  thee? 

If  thou  would  win  my  love, 
Jamie,  come  try  me  ! 

II. 

If  thou  should  kiss  me,  love, 
Wha  could  espy  thee  ? 

If  thou  wad  be  my  love, 
Jamie,  come  try  me  ! 


THE   SILVER  TASSIE.— THE   CAPTAIN'S   LADY. 


241 


Chorus.     ♦ 

Jamie,  come  try  me, 
Jamie,  come  try  me  ! 
If  thou  would  win  my  love, 
Jamie,  come  try  me  ! 


THE   SILVER   TASSIE. 

["  This   air  is   Oswald's ;   the  first  half 
stanza  is  old;  the  rest  is  mine."     (R.  B.)] 


I. 

Go,  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine 

And  fill  it  in  a  silver  tassie, 
That  I  may  drink  before  I  go 

A  service  to  my  bonie  lassie  ! 
The  boat  rocks  at  the  pier  o'  Leith, 

Fu'  loud  the  wind  blaws  frae   the 
Ferry, 
The  ship  rides  by  the  Berwick-Law, 

And  I  maun  leave  my  bonie  Mary. 


II. 


The  trumpets  sound,  the  banners  fly, 

The  glittering   spears   are   ranked 
ready, 
The  shouts  o'  war  are  heard  afar, 

The  battle  closes  deep  and  bloody. 
It  's  not  the  roar  o'  sea  or  shore 

Wad  mak  me  langer  wish  to  tarry. 
Nor  shouts  o'  war  that 's  heard  afar  : 

It 's  leaving  thee,  my  bonie  Mary  ! 


THE   LAZY  MIST. 

[No.  232  in  Johnson  "  Written  for  this 
work  by  Robert  Burns,"  and  signed  "  B."] 


The  lazy  mist  hangs  from  the  brow 

of  the  hill. 
Concealing   the    course   of  the   dark 

winding  rill. 
How    languid    the    scenes,    late    so 

sprightly,  appear, 


As  Autumn  to  Winter  resigns  the 
pale  year  ! 

II. 

The  forests  are  leafless,  the  meadows 

are  brown, 
And  all  the  gay  foppery  of  summer  is 

flown. 
Apart  let  me  wander,   apart   let  me 

muse, 
How  quick  Time  is  flying,  how  keen 

Fate  pursues  ! 

III. 

How  long  I  have  liv'd,  but  how  much 
livM  in  vain  ! 

How  little  of  life's  scanty  span  may 
remain  ! 

What  aspects  old  Time  in  his  pro- 
gress has  worn  ! 

What  ties  cruel  Fate  in  my  bosom 
has  torn  ! 

IV. 

How  foolish,  or  worse,  till  our  summit 

is  gained  ! 
And  downward,  how  weakened,  how 

darken^,  how  pain'd  ! 
Life  is  not  worth  having  with  all  it 

can  give  : 
For  something  beyond  it  poor  man, 

sure,  must  live. 


THE   CAPTAIN'S   LADY. 

[An  old  ballad.     Authorship  doubtful.] 

Chorus. 

O,  mount  and  go. 

Mount  and  make  you  ready  ! 
O,  mount  and  go. 

And  be  the  Captain's  Lady  ! 

I. 

When  the  drums  do  beat, 
And  the  cannons  rattle, 

Thou  shalt  sit  in  state. 

And  see  thy  love  in  battle: 


242  OF  A'  THE  AIRTS.  — WHISTLE   O'ER  THE   LAVE   O'T. 


II. 

When  the  vanquish''d  foe 
Sues  for  peace  and  quiet, 

To  the  shades  we  "11  go, 
And  in  love  enjoy  it. 

Chorus. 

O,  mount  and  go 

Mount  and  make  you  ready ! 
O,  mount  and  go. 

And  be  the  Captain's  Lady  ! 


OF   A'   THE  AIRTS. 

["  The  air  is  by  Marshall,  the  song  I 
composed  out  of  compUmentto  Mrs.  Burns. 
N.B.  It  was  during  the  honeymoon." 
(R.  B.)] 

I. 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw 

I  dearly  like  the  west, 
For  there  the  bonie  lassie  lives. 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best. 
There  wild  woods  grow,  and   rivers 
row. 

And  monie  a  hill  between, 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 

Is  ever  wi'  my  Jean. 

II. 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers  — 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair. 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds  — 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air. 
There 's  not  a  bonie  flower  that  springs 

By  fountain,  shaw,  or  green. 
There  's  not  a  bonie  bird  that  sings, 

But  minds  me  o'  my  Jean. 


CARL,   AN   THE    KING    COME. 
[A  medley  of  Jacobite  catchwords.] 

Chorus. 

Carl,  an  the  King  come, 
Carl,  an  the  King  come, 


Thou  shalt  dance,  and  I  will  sing, 
Carl,  an  the  king  come  ! 


I. 

An  somebodie  were  come  again, 
Then    somebodie     maun    cross  ■  the 

main, 
And  every  man  shall  hae  his  ain, 

Carl,  an  the  King  come  ! 

II. 

I  trow  we  swapped  for  the  worse  : 
We  gae  the  boot  and  better  horse, 
And  that  we  '11  tell  them  at  the  Cross, 
Carl,  an  the  King  come  ! 

III. 

Coggie.  an  the  King  come, 
Coggie,  an  the  King  come, 
I  '11  be  fou,  and  thou  'se  be  toom, 
Coggie,  an  the  King  come  ! 

Chorus. 

Carl,  an  the  King  come, 
Carl,  an  the  King  come. 
Thou  shalt  dance,  and  I  will  sing, 
Carl,  an  the  King  come  ! 


WHISTLE  O'ER  THE  LAVE  O'T. 

[The  repeat  is   borrowed  from  an  old 
song.] 

I. 

First  when  Maggie  was  my  care, 
Heav'n,  I  thought,  was  in  her  air ; 
Now  we  're  married,  spier  nae  mair. 

But  —  whistle  o'er  the  lave  o  't ! 
Meg  was  meek,  and  Meg  was  mild. 
Sweet  and  harmless  as  a  child  : 
Wiser  men  than  me  's  beguiled  — 

Whistle  o'er  the  lave  o  "t  ! 


II. 

How  we  live,  my  Meg  and  me, 
How  we  love,  and  how  we  gree, 
I  care  na  by  how  few  may  see  — 
Whistle  o'er  the  lave  o  't  ! 


O,   WERE   1.  — THERE'S   A   YOUTH    L\   THIS   CUV 


243 


Wha  I  wish  were  maggots'  meat, 
Dish'd  up  in  her  winding-sheet, 
I  could  write  (but  Meg  wad  see't)  — 
Whistle  o'er  the  lave  o  't ! 


O,   WERE    I    ON    PARNASSUS 
HILL. 

[The  substance  of  this  song  is  in  many 
old  ballads,  one  of  which  Burns  may  have 
taken  as  his  model.] 


I. 


O,  WERE  I  on  Parnassus  hill, 
Or  had  o'  Helicon  my  fill, 
That  I  might  catch  poetic  skill 

To  sing  how  dear  I  love  thee  ! 
But  Nith  maun  be  my  Muses'  well. 
My  Muse  maun  be  thy  bonie  seP, 
On  Corsincon  I  '11  glowr  and  spell. 

And  write  how  dear  I  love  thee. 


II. 

Then  come,  sweet  Muse,  inspire  my 

lay! 
For  a'  the  lee-lang  simmer's  day 
I  couldna  sing,  I  could  na  say 

How  much,  how  dear  I  love  thee. 
I  see  thee  dancing  o'er  the  green, 
Thy  waist   sae  jimp,  thy  limbs   sae 

clean. 
Thy  tempting  lips,  thy  roguish  een  — 

By  Heaven  and  Earth  1  love  thee ! 


III. 

By  night,  by  day,  a-field,  at  hame, 
The  thoughts  o'  thee  my  breast  in- 
flame, 
And  ay  I  muse  and  sing  thy  name  — 

I  only  live  to  love  thee. 
Tho'  I  were  doom'd  to  wander  on, 
Beyond  the  sea.  beyond  the  sun. 
Till  my  last  w^ary  sand  was  run. 

Till  then  —  and  then — Pd  love 
thee! 


THE   CAPTIVE    RIBBAND. 

[Burns's   authorship   of  this  song  is  in 
doubt.] 

I. 

Myra,  the  captive  ribband 's  mine  ! 

'T  was   all   my  faithful   love  could 
gain. 
And  would  you  ask  me  to  resign 

The  sole  rew^ard  that  crowns  my 


pam, 


II. 


rather 


Go,  bid  the  hero,  who  has  run 
Thro"    fields    of    death    to 
fame  — 
Go,  bid  him  lay  his  laurels  down, 
And  all  his  well-earn'd  praise  dis- 
claim ! 

Til. 

The  ribband  shall  its  freedom  lose^ 
Lose  all  the  bliss  it  had  with  you!  — 

And  share  the  fate  I  would  impose 
On  thee,  wert  thou  my  captive  too. 

IV. 

It  shall  upon  my  bosom  live. 
Or  clasp  me  in  a  close  embrace ; 

And  at  its  fortune  if  you  grieve. 
Retrieve   its    doom,   and    take    its 
place. 


THERE'S  A  YOUTH 
CITY. 


IN    THIS 


[This   piece   is   strongly   reminiscent    of 
"The  Mauchline  Belles."] 

I. 

There  's  a  youth  in  this  city,  it  were 

a  great  pity 
That   he    from  our   lassies  should 

wander  awa' : 
For  he  "s  bonie  and  braw,  weel-favor"d 

witha", 


244    MY  HEART'S  IN  THE  HIGHLANDS.— JOHN  ANDERSON  MY  JO. 


An'  his  hair  has  a  natural  buckle 

»'  -.1 


an'  a'. 


II. 


His  coat  is  the  hue  o'  his  bonnet  sae 
blue, 
His    fecket   is   white   as   the  new- 
driven  snaw, 
His  hose  they  are  blae,  and  his  shoon 
like  the  slae, 
And  his  clear  siller  buckles,  they 
dazzle  us  a'. 

III. 

For  beauty  and  fortune  the  laddie  's 
been  courtin  : 
Wee! -featured,  weel-tocher'd,  weel- 
mounted.  an"*  braw, 
But  chiefly  the  siller  that  gars  him 
gang  till  her  — 
The  penny  s  the  jewel  that  beauti- 
fies a' ! 

IV. 

There 's  Meg  wi'  the  mailen,  that  fain 
wad  a  haen  him, 
And  Susie,  wha's  daddie  was  laird 
of  the  Ha\ 
There's   lang-tocher"d    Nancy   maist 
fetters  his  fancy ; 
But  the  laddie's  dear  sel  he  loes 
dearest  of  a\ 


MY    HEART'S    IN   THE    HIGH- 
LANDS. 

["  The  first   half  stanza  of  this   song  is 
old;  the  rest  is  mine."     (R.  B.)] 

Chorus. 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my 
heart  is  not  here. 

My  heart 's  in  the  Highlands  a-chas- 
ing  the  deer, 

A-chasing  the  wild  deer  and  following 
the  roe  — 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  wher- 
ever I  go! 


Farewell  to  the  Highlands,  farewell 

to  the  North, 
The  birthplace  of  valour,  the  country 

of  worth  ! 
Wherever  I  wander,  wherever  I  rove, 
The  hills  of  the  Highlands  for  ever  I 

love. 

II. 

Farewell     to     the     mountains    high      . 
covered  with  snow,  I 

Farewell    to   the    straths   and    green      ' 
valleys  below. 

Farewell  to  the  forests  and  wild-hang- 
ing woods, 

Farewell  to  the  torrents  and  loud- 
pouring  floods ! 

Chorus. 

My  heart 's  in  the  Highlands,  my 
heart  is  not  here, 

My  heart 's  in  the  Highlands  a-chas- 
ing the  deer, 

A-chasing  the  wild  deer  and  following 
the  roe  — 

My  heart 's  in  the  Highlands,  wher- 
ever I  go! 


JOHN   ANDERSON    MY   JO. 

[The  song  traces  back  to  one  composed 
about  1560.     Improved  by  Burns.] 


John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 

When  we  were  first  acquent, 
Your  locks  were  like  the  raven, 

Your  bonie  brow  was  brent ; 
But  now  your  brow  is  beld,  John, 

Your  locks  are  like  the  snaw. 
But  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow, 

John  Anderson  my  jo  ! 

II. 

John  Anderson  my  jo.  John, 
We  clamb  the  hill  thegither, 


AWA',    WHIGS,   AWA'.— CA'   THE   VOWES   TO   THE   KNOWES.      245 


And  monie  a  cantie  day,  John, 
We  've  had  wi'  ane  anither  ; 

Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John, 
And  hand  in  hand  we  "11  go, 

And  sleep  thegither  at  the  toot, 
John  Anderson  my  jo  ! 


AWA\   WHIGS,   AWA'. 

[An   old    Jacobite   song,   improved  by 
Burns,] 

Chorus. 

Awa\  Whigs,  awa' ! 

Awa',  Whigs,  awa' ! 
Ye  Ve  but  a  pack  o'  traitor  loans, 

Ye  11  do  nae  guid  at  a'. 


Our   thrissles    flourish^    fresh   and 
fair, 

And  bonie  bloomM  our  roses  ; 
But  Whigs  cam  like  a  frost  in  June, 

An'  withered  a'  our  posies. 

II. 

Our    ancient    crown's    fa'n    in     the 

dust  — 
Deil  blin'  them  wi'  the  stoure  o  't, 
An'  write  their  names  in  his  black 

beuk, 
Wha  gae  the  Whigs  the  power  o  't ! 

III. 

Our  sad  decay  in  church  and  state 

Surpasses  my  descriving. 
The  Whigs  cam  o'er  us  for  a  curse, 

And  we  hae  done  wi'  thriving. 

IV. 

Grim   Vengeance    lang    has    taen   a 
nap. 
But  we  may  see  him  waukin  — 
Gude    help    the     day    when     Royal 
heads 
Are  hunted  like  a  maukin  ! 


Chorus. 

Awa',  Whigs,  awa' ! 

Awa',  Whigs,  awa'! 
Ye  're  but  a  pack  o'  traitor  louns, 

Ye  '11  do  nae  guid  at  a'. 


CA'  THE   YOWES   TO   THE 
KNOWES. 

["This  beautiful  song  is  in  the  true  old 
Scotch  taste,  yet  I  do  not  know  that  either 
the  air  or  words  were  in  print  before." 
(R.  B.)] 

Chorus. 

Ca'  the  yowes  to  the  knowes, 
Ca'  them  where  the  heather  grows, 
Ca'  them  where  the  burnie  rowes, 
My  bonie  dearie! 


I. 

As  I  gaed  down  the  water-side, 
There  I  met  my  shepherd  lad : 
He  row"d  me  sweetly  in  his  plaid. 
And  he  ca'd  me  his  dearie. 


II. 

'Will  ye  gang  down  the  water-side, 

And  see  the  waves  sae  sweetly  glide 

Beneath  the  hazels  spreading  wide? 

The  moon  it  shines  fu'  clearly.' 


III. 

'  I  was  bred  up  in  nae  sic  school, 
My  shepherd  lad,  to  play  the  fool. 
An'  a'  the  day  to  sit  in  dool, 
An'  naebodv  to  see  me.' 


IV. 

'  Ye  sail  get  gowns  and  ribbons  meet, 
Cauf-leather  shoon  upon  your  feet. 
And  in  my  arms  thou  'It  lie  and  sleep, 
An'  ye  sail  be  my  dearie.' 


246 


O,   MERRY   HAE   I   BEEN.  — THE   WHITE  COCKADE. 


'  If  ye  '11  but  stand  to  what  ye  Ve  said, 
I  'se  gang  wi'  you,  my  shepherd  lad, 
And  ye  may  row  me  in  your  plaid, 
And  I  sail  be  your  dearie.' 

VI. 

'  While  waters  wimple  to  the  sea, 
While  day  blinks  in  the  lift  sae  hie, 
Till  clay-cauld  death  sail  blin'  my  e'e, 
Ye  sail  be  my  dearie.' 

Chorus. 

Ca'  the  yowes  to  the  knowes, 
Ca'  them  where  the  heather  grows, 
Ca'  them  where  the  burnie  rowes, 
My  bonie  dearie! 


O,   MERRY   HAE   I    BEEN. 

["  The  tune  was  called  '  The  Bob  o'  Dum- 
blane,'  and  a  song  with  this  title  appears  in 
Ramsay's  '  Tea-Table  Miscellany'  (1727)." 
(R.  B.)] 

I. 

O,  MERRY  hae  I  been  teethin  a  heckle. 
An'   merry   hae   I    been   shapin   a 
spoon! 
O,  merry  hae  I  been  cloutin  a  kettle. 
An'  kissin  my  Katie  when  a'  was 
done! 
O,  a'  the  lang  day  I  ca'  at  my  hammer. 
An'  a'  the  lang  day  I  whistle  an'  sing! 
O,  a'  the  lang  night  I  cuddle  my  kim- 
mer, 
An'  a'  the  lang  night  as  happy 's  a 


king  I 


II. 


Bitter  in  dool,  I  lickit  my  winnins 
O'  marrying  Bess,  to  gie  her  a  slave. 

Blest  be  the  hour  she  cooFd  in  her 
linens, 
And  blvthe  be  the  bird  that  sings 


on  her  grave! 


Come  to  my  arms,  my  Katie,  my  Katie, 
An"  come  to  my  arms,  and  kiss  me 
again  ! 

Dmcken  or  sober,  here's  to  thee,  Katie, 
And  blest  be  the  day  I  did  it  again! 


A   MOTHER'S    LAMENT. 

["  The  words  were  composed  to  com- 
memorate the  much  lamented  and  prema- 
ture dt-ath  of  James  Ferguson,  Esq.,  Junior 
of  Craigdarroch."     (R.  B.)] 


Fate  gave  the  word  —  the  arrow  sped, 

And  pierc'd  my  darling's  heart, 
And  with  him  all  the  joys  are  fled 

Life  can  to  me  impart. 
By  cruel  hands  the  sapling  drops, 

In  dust  dishonored  laid  : 
So  fell  the  pride  of  all  my  hopes, 

My  age's  future  shade. 

II. 

The  mother  linnet  in  the  brake 

Bewails  her  ravish'd  young  : 
So  I  for  my  lost  darling's  sake 

Lament  the  live-day  long. 
Death,  oft  I  've  fear'd  thy  fatal  blow  ! 

Now  fond  I  bare  my  breast ! 
O,  do  thou  kindly  lay  me  low, 

With  him  I  love  at  rest ! 


THE   WHITE   COCKADE. 


[Adapted   from 
Lad  "  in  Herd.] 


The   Ranting   Roving 


Chonts. 

O,  he 's  a  ranting,  roving  lad  ! 
He  is  a  brisk  an"  a  bonie  lad  ! 
Betide  what  may,  I  will  be  wed. 
And  follow  the  boy  with  the  White 
Cockade  ! 

I. 

My  love  was  born  in  Aberdeen, 
The  boniest  lad  that  e'er  was  seen  : 


THE   BRAES  O'   BALLOCHMYLE.  — THOU   LINGERING   STAR.      247 


But  now  he  makes  our  hearts  fu'  sad  — 
He  takes  the  field  vvi'  his  White  Cock- 
ade. 

II. 

I  '11  sell  my  rock,  my  reel,  my  tow. 
My  guid  gray  mare  and  hawkit  cow, 
To  buy  mysel  a  tartan  plaid. 
To  follow  the  boy  wi'  the  White  Cock- 
ade. 

Chortis. 

O,  he  's  a  ranting,  roving  lad  ! 
He  is  a  brisk  an'  a  bonie  lad  ! 
Betide  what  may,  I  will  be  wed, 
And  follow  the  boy  wi'  the  White 
Cockade ! 


THE   BRAES   O'   BALLOCH- 
MYLE. 

["  I  composed  the  verses  on  the  amiable 
and  excellent  family  of  Whitefoord's  leav- 
ing Ballochmyle,  when  Sir  John's  misfor- 
tunes had  obliged  him  to  sell  the  estate." 
(R.  B.)] 

I. 

The  Catrine  woods  were  yellow  seen. 

The    flowers    decayed   on   Catrine 
lea; 
Nae  lav'rock  sang  on  hillock  green, 

But  nature  sicken'd  on  the  e'e  ; 
Thro'  faded  groves  Maria  sang, 

Hersel  in  beauty's  bloom  the  while. 
And  aye  the  wild-wood  echoes  rang : 

'  Fareweel  the  braes  o'  Ballochmyle ! 

II. 

Low  in  your  wintry  beds,  ye  flowers. 

Again  ye  '11  flourish  fresh  and  fair ; 
Ye  birdies,  dumb  in  with'ring  bowers. 

Again  ye  '11  charm  the  vocal  air ; 

But  here,  alas  !  for  me  nae  mair 
Shall  birdie  charm,  or  floweret  smile  : 

Fareweel  the  bonie  banks  of  Ayr! 
Fareweel  !    fareweel,   sweet   Balloch- 
myle ! ' 


THE    RANTIN   DOG,   THE 
DADDIE   OT. 

["  I  composed  this  song  pretty  early  in 
life,  and  sent  it  to  a  young  girl,  a  very  par- 
ticular acquaintance  of  mine,  who  was  at 
the  time  under  a  cloud."     (R.  B.)] 


O,  WHA  my  babie-clouts  will  buy  ? 
O,  wha  will  tent  me  when  I  cry  ? 
Wha  will  kiss  me  where  I  lie  ?  — 
The  rantin  dog,  the  daddie  o  "t ! 

II. 

O,  wha  will  own  he  did  the  faut? 
O,  wha  will  buy  the  groanin  maut.-* 
O,  wha  will  tell  me  how  to  ca  't?  — 
The  rantin  dog,  the  daddie  o't! 

III. 

When  I  mount  the  creepie-chair, 
Wha  will  sit  beside  me  there  ? 
Gie  me  Rob,  I'll  seek  nae  mair  — 
The  rantin  dog,  the  daddie  o  "t  ! 

Wha  will  crack  to  me  my  lane? 
Wha  will  mak  me  fidgin  fain? 
Wha  will  kiss  me  o'er  again  ?  — 
The  rantin  dog,  the  daddie  o  't ! 


THOU   LINGERING   STAR. 

[Enclosing  this  very  famous  lament  in 
a  letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  November  8,  1789, 
Burns  described  it  as  "made  the  other 
day."  He  also  asked  her  opinion  of  it,  as 
he  was  too  much  interested  in  the  subject 
to  be  "a  critic  in  the  composition."] 

I. 

Thou  lingering  star  with  lessening 
ray. 

That  lov'st  to  greet  the  early  morn. 
Again  thou  usher'st  in  the  day 

My  Mary  from  my  soul  was  torn. 


248 


EPPIE  ADAIR.— THE   BATTLE  OF   SHERRAMUIR. 


O  Mary,  dear  departed  shade  ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  ? 
See'st  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend 


his  breast? 


II. 


That  sacred  hour  can  I  forget, 

Can  I  forget  the  hallow'd  grove, 
Where,  by  the  winding  Ayr,  we  met 

To  live  one  day  of  parting  love  ? 
Eternity  cannot  efface 

Those  records  dear  of  transports 
past. 
Thy  image  at  our  last  embrace  — 

Ah  !   little  thought  we  't  was  our 
last! 

III. 

Ayr,    gurgling,    kiss'd    his    pebbled 
shore, 
O'erhung  with  wild  woods  thicken- 
ing green  ; 
The   fragrant    birch    and    hawthorn 
hoar 
'Twin'd  amorous  round  the  raptured 
scene ; 
The    flowers   sprang  wanton   to   be 
prest. 
The    birds    sang    love    on    every 
spray. 
Till  too,  too.  soon,  the  glowing  west 
Proclaimed    the    speed   of  winged 
day. 

IV. 

Still   o'er   these   scenes   my   mem'ry 
wakes. 
And  fondly  broods  with  miser-care. 
Time    but    th'    impression   stronger 
makes. 
As  streams  their  channels  deeper 
wear. 
O  Mary,  dear  departed  shade  ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  ? 
See'st  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 
HearVst  thou  the  groans  that  rend 
his  breast? 


EPPIE   ADAIR. 

[No.   281   in   Johnson,   unsigned. 
Ms.  is  in  the  Hastie  Collection.] 

Chorus. 

An'  O  my  Eppie, 
My  jewel,  my  Eppie! 
Wha  wadna  be  happy 
Wi'  Eppie  Adair? 


By  love  and  by  beauty, 
By  law  and  by  duty, 
I  swear  to  be  true  to 
My  Eppie  Adair! 

II. 

A'  pleasure  exile  me, 
Dishonour  defile  me, 
If  e'er  I  beguile  thee, 
My  Eppie  Adair ! 

Chorus. 

An'  O  my  Eppie, 
My  jewel,  my  Eppie  ! 
Wha  wadna  be  happy 
Wi'  Eppie  Adair? 


The 


THE     BATTLE     OF     SHERRA- 
MUIR. 

[This  song  is  condensed  from  a  ballad 
by  the  Rev.  John  Barclay.] 

I. 

'•  O,  CAM  ye  here  the  fight  to  shun. 
Or  herd  the  sheep  wi'  me,  man? 
Or  were  ye  at  the  Sherra-moor, 
Or  did  the  battle  see.  man?' 
'  I  saw  the  battle,  sair  and  teugh, 
And  reekin-red  ran  monie  a  sheugh  ; 
My  heart  for  fear  gae  sough  for  sough. 
To  hear  the  thuds,  and  see  the  cluds 
O'  clans  frae  w^oods  in  tartan  duds, 
Wha  glaum'd  at  kingdoms   three, 
man. 


YOUNG  JOCKIE   WAS  THE   BLYTHEST   LAD. 


249 


II. 

*  The  red-coat  lads  \vi'  black  cockauds 

To  meet  them  were  na  slaw,  man  : 
They   rush'd   and  push'd   and    bluid 
outgush'd, 
And  monie  a  bouk  did  fa',  man ! 
The  great  Argyle  led  on  his  files, 
I  wat  they  glanc'd  for  twenty  miles  ; 
They  hough'd  the  clans  like  nine-pin 

kyles. 
They  hackxl  and  hashM,  while  braid- 
swords  clashed, 
And  thro'  they  dash'd,  and  hew'd  and 
smashed, 
Till  fey  men  died  awa,  man. 

III. 

^  But  had  ye  seen  the  philibegs 

And  skyrin  tartan  trews,  man, 
When  in  the  teeth   they  daur'd   our 
whigs 
And  Covenant  trueblues.  man  ! 
In  lines  extended  lang  and  large. 
When  baig'nets  o'erpowerd  the  targe, 
And  thousands  hastened  to  the  charge, 
Wi'   Highland   wrath   they   frae   the 

sheath 
Drew  blades  o' death,  till  out  o' breath 
They  fled  like  frighted  dows,  man  ! ' 

IV. 

'  O,  how  Deil  !  Tam,  can  that  be  true  ? 

The  chase  gaed  frae  the  north,  man  ! 
I  saw  mysel,  they  did  pursue 

The  horseman  back  to  Forth,  man  ; 
And  at  Dunblane,  in  my  ain  sight, 
They  took  the  brig  wi'  a'  their  might. 
And  straught  to  Stirling  wing'd  their 

flight ; 
But,  cursed  lot  !  the  gates  were  shut, 
And  monie  a  huntit  poor  red-coat. 

For  fear  amaist  did  swarf,  man  ! ' 

V. 

*  My  sister  Kate  cam  up  the  gate 

Wi'  crowdie  unto  me,  man  : 
She  swoor  slie  saw  some  rebels  run 
To  Perth  and  to  Dundee,  man  ! 


Their  left-hand  general  had  nae  skill ,; 
The  Angus  lads  had  nae  good  will 
That  day  their  neebors'  bluid  to  spill ; 
For  fear  by  foes  that  they  should  lose 
Their  cogs  o'  brose,  they  scard  at 
blows. 
And  hameward  fast  did  flee,  man. 

VI. 

'  They  Ve  lost  some  gallant  gentlemen, 

Amang  the  Highland  clans,  man  ! 
I  fear  my  Lord  Panmure  is  slain. 
Or  in  his  en'mies'  hands,  man. 
Now  wad  ye  sing  this  double  flight, 
Some  fell  for   wrang,  and  some  for 

right, 
But  monie  bade  the  world  guid-night : 
Say,  pell  and  mell,  wi'  muskets"  knell 
How  Tories  fell,  and  Whigs  to  Hell 
Flew  off  in  frighted  bands,  man  ! ' 


YOUNG  JOCKIE   WAS   THE 
BLYTHEST    LAD. 

[Stenhouse  remarks  that  the  whole  song, 
"excepting  three  or  four  lines,  is  the  pro- 
duction of  Burns."] 

I. 

Young  Jockie  was  the  blythest  lad, 
In  a'  our  town  or  here  awa : 

Fu'  blythe  he  whistled  at  the  gaud, 
Fu'  lightly  danc'd  he  in  the  ha\ 

II. 

He  roos'd  my  een  sae  bonie  blue. 
He  roos'd  my  waist  sae  genty  sma' ; 

An'  ay  my  heart  cam  to  my  mou". 
When  ne'er  a  body  heard  or  saw. 

III. 
My  Jockie  toils  upon  the  plain 

Thro'  wind   and   w^eet,  thro'  frost 
and  snaw ; 
And  o'er  the  lea  I  leuk  fu'  fain. 

When   Jockie's   owsen    hameward 
ca'. 


250 


A   WAUKRIFE   MINNIE.  — THO'    WOMEN'S    MINDS. 


IV. 


An''  ay  the  night  comes  round  again, 
When  in  his  arms  he  taks  me  a.\ 

An'  ay  he  vows  he  '11  be  my  ain 
As  lang  "s  he  has  a  breath  to  draw. 


A  WAUKRIFE  MINNIE. 

["  I  picked  up  the  old  song  and  tune 
from  a  country  girl  in  Nithsdale.  I  never 
met  with  it  elsewhere  in  Scotland."    (R.  B.)] 


'Whare   are   you    gaun,   my  bonie 
lass? 

Whare  are  you  gaun,  my  hinnie?' 
She  answer'd  me  right  saucilie  :  — 

'  An  errand  for  my  minnie  ! ' 


II. 

*  O,  whare  live  ye,  my  bonie  lass  ? 

O,  whare  live  ye,  my  hinnie  ? ' 

*  By  yon  burnside,  gin  ye  maun  ken, 

In  a  wee  house  wi'  my  minnie  !  ■ 


III. 

But  I  foor  up  the  glen  at  e'en 

To  see  my  bonie  lassie. 
And  lang  before  the  grey  morn  cam 

She  was  na  hauf  sae  saucy. 

IV. 

O,  weary  fa'  the  waukrife  cock. 
And  the  foumart  lay  his  crawin  ! 

He  wauken'd  the  auld  wife  frae  her 
sleep 
A  wee  blink  or  the  dawin. 


V. 

An  angry  wife  I  wat  she  raise, 

And  o'er  the  bed  she  brought  her, 

And  wi'  a  meikle  hazel-rung 

She  made  her  a  weel-pay'd  dochter. 


VI. 


'  O,  fare-thee-weel,  my  bonie  lass  ! 

O,  fare-thee-weel,  my  hinnie  ! 
Thou  art  a  gay  and  a  bonie  lass, 

But  thou  has  a  waukrife  minnie  ! ' 


THO'   WOMEN'S   MINDS. 

["  This    song    is    mine,   all  except   the 
chorus."    (R.  B.)] 

Ckorzis. 

For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 

And  twice  as  meikle  's  a'  that, 
The  bonie  lass  that  I  loe  best. 

She  '11  be  my  ain  for  a'  that ! 


Tho'     women's    minds    like    winter 
winds 
May  shift,  and  turn,  an'  a'  that, 
The     noblest     breast     adores    them 
maist  — 
A  consequence,  I  draw  that. 


II. 

Great  love  I  bear  to  a'  the  fair. 
Their  humble  slave,  an'  a'  that ; 

But  lordly  will,  I  hold  it  still 
A  mortal  sin  to  thraw  that. 


III. 

In  rapture  sweet  this  hour  we  meet, 
Wi'  mutual  love  an'  a'  that, 

But  for  how  lang  the  flie  may  stang. 
Let  inclination  law  that ! 


rv. 

Their  tricks   an'   craft   hae   put   me 
daft, 
They've  taen  me  in  an'  a'  that. 
But  clear  your  decks,  and  here 's  :  — 
^The  Sex!' 
I  like  the  jads  for  a'  that ! 


WILLIE   BREW'D   A   PECK   O'    MAUT.  — KILLIECRANKIE. 


251 


Chorus. 

For  a'  that,  an'  a^  that, 

And  twice  as  meikle  's  a'  that. 
The  bonie  lass  that  I  loe  best, 

She  '11  be  my  ain  for  a'  that ! 


WILLIE    BREW'D    A    PECK    O' 
MAUT. 

["  The  air  is  Masterton's ;  the  song  mine." 
(R.  B.)J 

Chorjis. 

We  are  na  fou,  we  Ve  nae  that  fou. 

But  just  a  drappie  in  our  e'e  ! 
The    cock   may  craw,  the   day   may 
daw. 
And   ay   we  '11    taste    the    barley- 
bree ! 

I. 

O,  Willie  brewed  a  peck  o'  maut. 
And  Rob  and  Allan  cam  to  see. 

Three   blyther    hearts   that    lee-lang 
night 
Ye  wad  na  found  in  Christendie. 

II. 

Here  are  we  met  three  merry  boys. 
Three  merry  boys  I  trow  are  we ; 

And    monie   a    night    we  've    merry 
been, 
And  monie  mae  we  hope  to  be  ! 

III. 

It  is  the  moon,  I  ken  her  horn, 

That's  blinkin  in  the  lift  sae  hie: 
She    shines   sae   bright    to   wyle   us 
hame. 
But,   by   my   sooth,   shell   wait  a 
wee ! 

IV. 

Wha  first  shall  rise  to  ffang  awa, 
A  cuckold,  coward  loun  is  he  ! 

Wha  first  beside  his  chair  shall  fa'. 
He  is  the  King  amang  us  three  ! 


Chorus. 

We  are  na  fou,  we  're  nae  that  fou, 
But  just  a  drappie  in  our  e'e  ! 

The  cock  may  craw,  the  day  may  daw. 
And  ay  we  '11  taste  the  barley-bree! 


KILLIECRANKIE. 

["  The  battle  of  Killiecrankie  was  the  last 
stand  made  by  the  clans  for  James  after  his 
abdication.  Here  the  gallant  Lord  Dun- 
dee fell  in  the  moment  of  victory."  (R.  B.J 
The  battle  was  fought  on  July  17,  1689.] 


Chorus. 

An  ye  had  been  whare  I  hae  been, 
Ye  wad  na  been  sae  cantie.  O  ! 

An  ye  had  seen  what  I  hae  seen 
On  the  braes  o'  Killiecrankie,  O  ! 


'  Whare  hae  ye  been  sae  braw.  lad  ? 

Whare  hae  ye  been  sae  brankie.  O  ? 
Whare  hae  ye  been  sae  braw,  lad.'' 

Cam  ye  by  Killiecrankie.  O  ? ' 

II. 

'  I  faught  at  land,  I  faught  at  sea. 
At  hame  I  faught  my  auntie,  O  ; 

But  I  met  the  De\il  and  Dundee 
On  the  braes  o'  Killiecrankie,  O 


III. 

'  The  bauld  Pitcur  fell  in  a  furr. 
An'  Clavers  gat  a  clankie.  O, 

Or  I  had  fed  an  Athole  gled 

On  the  braes  o'  Killiecrankie,  O  !' 


Chorus. 

An  ye  had  been  whare  I  hae  been, 
Ye  wad  na  been  sae  cantie,  O ! 

An  ye  had  seen  what  I  hae  seen 
On  the  braes  o'  Killiecrankie,  O  ! 


252 


THE  BLUE-EYED    LASSIE.  — TAM   GLEN. 


THE   BLUE-EYED    LASSIE. 

[Burns  enclosed  this  song  in  a  letter  to 
Mrs.  Dunlop,  Oct.  2,  1788,  writing:  "How 
do  you  like  the  following  song,  designed 
for  and  composed  by  a  friend  of  mine,  and 
which  he  has  christened  '  The  Blue-Eyed 
Lassie '?"] 


I  GAED  a  waefu'  gate  yestreen, 

A  gate  I  fear  I  '11  dearly  rue  : 
I  gat  my  death  frae  twa  sweet  een, 

Twa  lovely  een  o'  bonie  blue! 
'T  was  not  her  golden  ringlets  bright, 

Her  lips  like  roses  wat  wi'  dew, 
Her  heaving  bosom  lily-white  : 

It  was  her  een  sae  bonie  blue. 

II. 

She  talk'd,  she  smil'd,  my  heart  she 
wyPd, 
She    charm'd   my   soul    I   wist    na 
how ; 
And  ay  the  stound,  the  deadly  wound. 

Cam  frae  her  een  sae  bonie  blue. 
But   '  spare   to  speak,  and  spare   to 
speed '  — 
She  11  aiblins  listen  to  my  vow : 
Should  she  refuse,  I  '11  lay  my  dead 
To  her  twa  een  sae  bonie  blue. 


THE    BANKS   OF   NITH. 

[Written  for  Johnson's  "Museum"  by 
Burns.  An  early  draft  was  sent  to  Mrs. 
Dunlop.] 


The  Thames  flows  proudly  to  the  sea, 

Where  royal  cities  stately  stand  ; 
But  sweeter  flows  the  Nith  to  me. 

Where   Cummins   ance    had    high 
command. 

When  shall  I  see  that  honor'd  land. 
That  winding  stream  I  love  so  dear? 

Must  wayward  Fortune 's   adverse 
hand 
For  ever  —  ever  keep  me  here  ? 


II. 

How  lovely,  Nith,  thy  fruitful  vales, 
Where  bounding  hawthorns  gaily 
bloom. 
And  sweetly  spread  thy  sloping  dales. 
Where  lambkins  wanton  thro'  the 

broom  ! 
Tho'  wandering  now  must  be  my 
doom 
Far  from  thy  bonie  banks  and  braes, 
May  there  my  latest  hours  consume 
Amang  my  friends  of  early  days  ! 


TAM   GLEN. 

[Written  for  Johnson's  "  Museum  "  by 
Burns.] 


My  heart  is  a-breaking,  dear  tittie. 
Some  counsel  unto  me  come  len'. 

To  anger  them  a'  is  a  pity. 
But  what  will  I  do  wi'  Tarn  Glen? 

II. 

I  'm  thinking,  wi'  sic  a  braw  fellow 
In  poortith  I  might  mak  a  fen'. 

What  care  I  in  riches  to  wallow, 
If  I  mauna  marry  Tarn  Glen  ? 

III. 

There 's  Lowrie  the  laird  0'  Dumeller : 
'  Guid  day  to  you,'  brute  !  he  comes 
ben. 
He  brags  and  he  blaws  o'  his  siller. 
But  when  will  he  dance  like  Tam 
Glen? 

IV. 

My  minnie  does  constantly  deave  me. 
And  bids  me  beware  o'  young  men. 

They  flatter,  she  says,  to  deceive  me  — 
But  wha  can  think  sae  o'  Tam  Glen  ? 

V. 

My  daddie  says,  gin  I  '11  forsake  hitn. 
He  'd  gie  me  guid  hunder  marks  ten. 


CRAIGIEBURN  WOOD.  — FRAE  THE  FRIENDS  ATCD  LAND  I  LOVE.     25:^ 


But  if  it's  ordain'd  I  maun  take  him, 
O,  wha  will  I  get  but  Tarn  Glen  ? 


VI. 

Yestreen  at  the  valentines'  dealing, 
My  heart  to  my  mou  gied  a  sten, 

For  thrice  I  drew  ane  without  failing, 
And   thrice   it   was  written  'Tarn 
Glen'! 

VII. 

The  last  Halloween  I  was  waukin 
My  droukit  sark-sleeve,  as  ye  ken  — 

His  likeness  came  up  the  house  staukin, 
And  the  very  grey  breeks  o'  Tarn 
Glen! 

VIII. 

Come,  counsel,  dear  tittie,  dont  tarry! 

I  '11  gie  ye  my  bonie  black  hen, 
Gif  ye  will  advise  me  to  marry 

The  lad  I  lo'e  dearly,  Tam  Glen. 


CRAIGIEBURN   WOOD. 

["  This  song  was  composed  on  a  passion 
which  a  Mr.  Gillespie,  a  particular  frit-nd  of 
mine,  had  for  a  Miss  Lorimer,  afterwards  a 
Mrs.  Whelpdale."'     (R.  B.)] 

CJwriis. 

Beyond  thee,  dearie,  beyond  thee, 
dearie. 
And  O.  to  be  lying  beyond  thee! 
O,  sweetly,  soundly,  weel  may  he 
sleep 
That's  laid  in  the  bed  beyond 
thee  ! 

I. 

Sweet  closes  the  ev'ning  on  Craigie- 
burn  Wood 
And  blythely  awaukens  the  morrow ; 
But  the  pride  o'  the  spring  on  the 
Craigieburn  Wood 
Can  yield  me  naught  but  sorrow. 

II. 

I  see  the  spreading  leaves  and  flowers, 
I  hear  the  wild  birds  singing ; 


But  pleasure  they  hae  nana  for  me, 
While  care  my  heart  is  wringing. 


III. 


I  can  na  tell,  I  maun  na  tell, 
I  daur  na  for  your  anger ; 
But  secret  love  will  break  my  heart, 


If  I  conceal  it  langer. 


IV. 


I  see  thee  gracefii',  straight,  and  tall, 
I  see  thee  sweet  and  bonie  : 

But  O.  what  will  my  torment  be, 
If  thou  refuse  thy  Johnie  ! 


V. 


To  see  thee  in  another's  arms 
In  love  to  lie  and  languish, 

'T  wad  be  my  dead,  that  will  be  seen  — 
My  heart  wad  burst  wi'  anguish  ! 


VI. 

But,  Jeanie.  say  thou  wilt  be  mine, 
Say  thou  lo"es  nane  before  me. 

And  a'  my  days  o'  life  to  come 
I  'U  gratefully  adore  thee. 

Chonts. 

Beyond  thee,  dearie,  beyond  thee, 
dearie,    * 
And  O,  to  be  lying  beyond  thee! 
O,  sweetly,  soundly,  weel  may  he 
sleep 
That's  laid  in  the  bed  beyond 
thee  ! 


FRAE  THE  FRIENDS  AND 
LAND  I  LOVE. 

["I  added  the  four  last  lines  by  way  of 
giving  a  turn  to  the  theme  of  the  poem, 
such  as  it  is."     (R.  B.^] 


Frae  the  friends  and  land  I  love 
Driv'n  by  Fortune's  felly  spite, 

Frae  my  best  belov'd  I  rove, 
Never  mair  to  taste  delight ! 


254    O  JOHN,  COME  KISS  ME  NOW.  — MY  TOCHER'S  THE  JEWEL. 


Never  mair  maun  hope  to  find 
Ease  frae  toil,  relief  frae  care. 

When  remembrance  wracks  the  mind, 
Pleasures  but  unveil  despair. 

II. 

Brightest  climes  shall  mirk  appear, 

Desert  ilka  blooming  shore, 
Till  the  Fates,  nae  mair  severe, 

Friendship,  love,  and  peace  restore  ; 
Till  Revenge  wi'  laurelPd  head 

Bring  our  banishM  hame  again. 
And  ilk  loyal,  bonie  lad 

Cross  the  seas,  and  win  his  ain  ! 


O  JOHN,  COME  KISS  ME  NOW. 

[Altered  and  expanded  from  a  fragment 
in  Herd.] 

Chorus. 

O  John,  come  kiss  me  now,  now, 

now  ! 
O   John,  my  love,  come   kiss   me 

now  ! 
O  John,  come  kiss  me  by  and  by, 
For  weel  ye  ken  the  way  to  woo  ! 


O,  SOME  will  court  and  compliment. 
And  ither  .some  will  kiss  and  daut ; 

But  I  will  mak  o'  my  guidman. 
My  ain  guidman  —  it  is  nae  faut ! 

II. 

O,  some  will  court  and  compliment. 
And  ither  some  will  prie  their  mou'. 

And  some  will  hause  in  ither's  arms. 
And  that 's  the  way  I  like  to  do  ! 

Chorus. 

O  John,  come  kiss  me  now,  now, 

now  ! 
O  John,  my  love,  come   kiss    me 

now  ! 
O  John,  come  kiss  me  by  and  by. 
For  weel  ye  ken  the  way  to  woo  ! 


COCK   UP   YOUR   BEAVER. 

[Redacted  from  the  older  set  in  Herd.] 

I. 

When   first    my  brave    Johnie    lad 

came  to  this  town, 
He  had  a  blue   bonnet  that  wanted , 

the  crown,  '  \ 

But  now  he  has  gotten  a  hat  and  a 

feather  — 
Hey,  brave  Johnie  lad,  cock  up  your 

beaver! 


II. 

Cock  up  your  beaver,  and  cock  it  fu'  j 

sprush  ! 
We  '11  over  the  border  and  gie  them  a 

brush  : 
There 's  somebody  there  we  '11  teach  I 

better  behaviour —  I 

Hey,  brave  Johnie  lad,  cock  up  yourj 

beaver !  ' 


MY    TOCHER'S    THE    JEWEL. 

[The  last  half  of  stanza  ii.,  according  to 
Cromek,  was  found  in  Burns's  holograph 
as  part  of  an  old  song.] 


I. 

O,   MEIKLE   thinks   my   luve   o'   my 
beauty, 
And  meikle  thinks  my  luve  o'  my 
kin ; 
But  little  thinks  my  luve  I  ken  brawlie 
My  tocher's  the  jewel  has  charms 
for  him. 
It 's  a'  for  the  apple  he  '11  nourish  the 

tree, 
It 's  a'  for  the  hiney  he  '11  cherish  the 
bee ! 
My  laddie 's  sae  meikle  in  luve  wi' 
the  siller. 
He  canna  hae  luve  to  spare  for  me  ! 


THERE'LL  NEVER   BE   PEACE  TILL  JAMIE   COMES    HAME.      255 


II, 

Your  proffer  o'  luve  's  an  airle-penny, 
My  tocher's   the  bargain   ye  wad 
buy; 
But  an  ye  be  crafty,  I  am  cunnin, 
Sae  ye  vvi'  anither  your  fortune  may 
try. 
Ye  "re  like  to  the  timmer  o'  yon  rotten 
wood. 
Ye  "re  hke  to  the  bark  o'  yon  rotten 
tree  : 
Ye  *11    slip   frae   me   like   a   knotless 
thread. 
An'    ye  '11    crack    your    credit    wi' 
mair  nor  me  ! 


GUIDWIFE,   COUNT  THE 
LAWIN. 

["  The  chorus  of  this  is  part  of  an  old 
song."     (R.  B.)] 

Chorus. 

Then,  guidwife,  count  the  lawin, 
The  lawin,  the  lawin  ! 

Then,  guidwife,  count  the  lawin. 

And  bring  a  coggie  mair  ! 


Gane    is   the   day,  and   mirk's   the 

night. 
But  we  '11  ne'er  stray  for  faut  o"  light, 
For  ale  and  brandy  's  stars  and  moon. 
And  blude-red  wine  's  the  risin  sun. 

II. 

There's  wealth  and  ease  for  gentle- 
men. 
And  semple  folk  maun  fecht  and  fen' ; 
But  here  we  're  a'  in  ae  accord. 
For  ilka  man  that 's  drunk  's  a  lord. 

III. 

My  coggie  is  a  haly  pool. 
That  heals   the  wounds  o'  care  and 
dool, 


And  Pleasure  is  a  wanton  trout : 
An  ye  drink  it  a',  ye  '11  find  him  out ! 

Chorus. 

Then,  guidwife,  count  the  lawin, 
The  lawin,  the  lawin  ! 

Then,  guidwife,  count  the  lawin. 

And  bring  a  coggie  mair! 


THERE'LL  NEVER   BE  PEACE 
TILL  JAMIE   COMES    HAME. 

["This  tune  is  sometimes  called  '  There 
are  Few  Gude  Fellows  when  Willie  's  Awa.' 
But  I  have  never  been  able  to  meet  with 
anything  else  of  the  song  than  the  title." 
(R.  B.)] 


By  yon  castle  wa'  at  the  close  of  the 

day, 
I  heard  a  man  sing,  tho'  his  head  it 

was  grey, 
And  as  he  was  singing,  the  tears  doon 

came :  — 
'There'll   never  be  peace  till  Jamie 

comes  hame  ! 

II. 

'  The  Church  is  in  ruins,  the  State  is 
in  jars. 

Delusions,  oppressions,  and  murder- 
ous wars, 

We  dare  na  weel  say  't,  but  we  ken 
wha  's  to  blame  — 

There  '11  never  be  peace  till  Jamie 
comes  hame  ! 

III. 

'  My  seven  braw  sons  for  Jamie  drew 

sword. 
But  now  I  greet  round   their  green 

beds  in  the  yerd  ; 
It  brak  the  sweet  heart  o'  my  faithfu' 

auld  dame  — 
There  Ul   never  be    peace    till   Jamie 

comes  hame  ! 


256 


THE   BONIE   LAD   THAT'S   FAR   AWA. 


IV. 

'Now  life  is  a  burden  that  bows  me 

down, 
Sin  I  tint  my  bairns,  and  he  tint  his 

crown ; 
But  till  my  last  moments  my  words 

are  the  same  — 
There  '11   never   be   peace  till  Jamie 

comes  hame ! ' 


WHAT  CAN  A  YOUNG  LASSIE 

[A  derivative,  "The  Old  Man  Killed 
with  the  Cough."  This  derivative  Burns 
seems  to  have  known,  and  to  have  borrowed 
its  rhythraus,  as  well  as  its  general  tone  and 
sentiment.] 


What  can  a  young  lassie, 
What  shall  a  young  lassie, 
What  carl  a  young  lassie 

Do  wi'  an  auld  man? 
Bad  luck  on  the  penny     . 
That  tempted  my  minnie 
To  sell  her  puir  Jenny 

For  siller  an'  Ian' ! 


II. 

He  's  always  compleenin 
Frae  mornin  to  eenin  ; 
He  hoasts  and  he  hirples 

The  weary  day  lang ; 
He 's  doylt  and  he  's  dozin ; 
His  blude  it  is  frozen  — 
O,  dreary  's  the  night 

Wi'  a  crazy  auld  man ! 

III. 

He  hums  and  he  hankers. 
He  frets  and  he  cankers, 
I  never  can  please  him 

Do  a'  that  I  can. 
He  's  peevish  an'  jealous 
Of  a'  the  young  fellows  — 
O,  dool  on  the  day 

I  met  wi'  an  auld  man  !    \ 


IV. 

My  auld  auntie  Katie 
Upon  me  taks  pity, 
I  '11  do  my  endeavour 

To  follow  her  plan  : 
I  '11  cross  him  an'  wrack  him 
Until  I  heartbreak  him. 
And  then  his  auld  brass 

Will  buy  me  a  new  pan. 


THE  BONIE  LAD  THAT'S  FAR 
AWA. 

[It  is  supposed  to  refer  to  old  Armour's 
extrusion  of  his  daughter  in  the  winter  of 
1788.] 

I. 

O,  HOW  can  I  be  blythe  and  glad, 
Or  how  can  I  gang  brisk  and  braw, 

When  the  bonie  lad  that  I  lo'e  best 
Is  o'er  the  hills  and  far  awa  ? 


II. 

It 's  no  the  frosty  winter  wind, 

It 's  no  the  driving  drift  and  snaw ; 

But  ay  the  tear  comes  in  my  e'e 
To  think  on  him  that 's  far  awa. 


III. 

My  father  pat  me  frae  his  door, 
My  friends  they  hae  disown'd  me  a' ; 

But  I  hae  ane  will  tak  my  part  — 
The  bonie  lad  that 's  far  awa. 

IV. 

A  pair  o'  glooves  he  bought  to  me 
And  silken  snoods  he  gae  me  twa. 

And  I  will  wear  them  for  his  sake, 
The  bonie  lad  that 's  far  awa. 


V. 

O,  weary  Winter  soon  will  pass, 
And  Spring  will  deed  the  birken 
shaw. 


I   DO  CONFESS.— YON   WILD   MOSSY   MOUNTAINS. 


257 


And  my  sweet  babie  will  be  born, 
And  he  "11  be  hame  that 's  far  awa ! 


I     DO     CONFESS     THOU     ART 
SAE   FAIR. 

["This  song  is  altered  from  a  poem  by 
Sir  Robert  Ayton,  private  secretary  to  Mary 
and  Anno,  queens  of  Scotland."     (R.  B.)] 


I  DO  confess  thou  art  sae  fair, 

I  wad  been  o'er  the  lugs  in  luve, 
Had  I  na  found  the  slightest  prayer 

That   lips   could   speak   thy   heart 
could  muve. 
I  do  confess  thee  sweet,  but  find 

Thou  art  so  thriftless  o'  thy  sweets, 
Thy  favours  are  the  silly  wind 

That  kisses  ilka  thing  it  meets. 

II. 

See  yonder  rosebud  rich  in  dew, 

Amang  its  native  briers  sae  coy, 
How  sune  it  tines  its  scent  and  hue. 

When  puM  and  worn  a  common  toy  ! 
Sic  fate  ere  lang  shall  thee  betide, 

Tho'  thou  may  gaily  bloom  awhile, 
And  sune  thou  shalt  be  thrown  aside, 

Like  onie  common  weed,  an'  vile. 


Let  the  blast  sweep  o'er  the  valley, 
See  it  prostrate  in  the  clay. 


SENSIBILITY    HOW   CHARM- 
ING. 

[Written  for  Johnson's  "  Museum "  by 
Burns.] 

I. 

Sensibility  how  charming. 

Thou,  my  friend,  can's t  truly  tell  ! 

But  Distress  with  horrors  arming 
Thou  alas  !  hast  known  too  well  ! 


II. 

Fairest  flower,  behold  the  lily 
Blooming  in  the  sunny  ray  : 


in. 


Hear  the  woodlark  charm  the  forest, 
Telling  o'er  his  little  joys  ; 

But  alas  !  a  prey  the  surest 
To  each  pirate  of  the  skies ! 


IV. 


Dearly  bought  the  hidden  treasure 
Finer  feelings  can  bestow  : 

Chords  that  vibrate  sweetest  pleasure 
Thrill  the  deepest  notes  of  woe. 


YON   WILD   MOSSY    MOUN- 
TAINS. 

["  The  song  alludes  to  a  part  of  my  pri- 
vate history  which  is  of  no  consequence  to 
the  world  to  know."     (R.  B.)] 


Yon  wild  mossy  mountains  sae  lofty 

and  wide. 
That  nurse  in  their  bosom  the  youth 

o'  the  Clyde, 
Where  the  grouse  lead  their  coveys 

thro'  the  heather  to  feed, 
And  the  shepherd  tents  his  flock  as 

he  pipes  on  his  reed. 

II. 

Not  Cowrie's  rich  valley  nor  Forth's 

sunny  shores 
To  me  hae  the  charms  o'  yon  wild, 

mossy  moors  ; 
For  there,   by  a  lanely,  sequestered 

stream, 
Resides  a  sweet  lassie,  my  thought 

and  my  dream. 

III. 

Amang  thae  wild  mountains  shall  still 

be  my  path. 
Ilk  stream  foaming  down  its  ain  green, 

narrow  strath ; 


258 


IT   IS  NA,  JEAN,  THY   BONIE   FACE. 


For  there  wi'  my  lassie  the  lang  day 

I  rove, 
While  o'er  us  unheeded  file  the  swift 

hours  o'  love. 

IV. 

She  is  not  the  fairest,  altho'  she  is 

fair; 
O'   nice   education   but   sma'  is   her 

share ; 
Her    parentage    humble    as   humble 

can  be ; 
But   I   lo'e   the   dear  lassie   because 

she  lo'es  me. 


V. 

To  Beauty  what  man  but  maun  yield 

him  a  prize, 
In  her  armour  of  glances,  and  blushes, 

and  sighs  ? 
And  when  Wit  and  Refinement  hae 

polish^  her  darts, 
They  dazzle  our  een,  as  they  flie  to 

our  hearts. 

VI. 

But  kindness,  sweet  kindness,  in  the 
fond-sparkling  e'e 

Has  lustre  outshining  the  diamond  to 
me. 

And  the  heart  beating  love  as  I  ^m 
clasp'd  in  her  arms, 

O,  these  are  my  lassie^s  all-conquer- 
ing charms  ! 


I  HAE  BEEN  AT  CROOKIEDEN. 

[Founded  on  an  old  Jacobite  rhyme.] 


I. 


I  HAE  been  at  Crookieden  — 

My  bonie  laddie,  Highland  laddie  ! 

Viewing  Willie  and  his  men  — 

My  bonie  laddie,  Highland  laddie ! 


There  our  foes  that  burnt  and  slew  — 
My  bonie  laddie.  Highland  laddie 

There  at  last  they  gat  their  due  — 
My  bonie  laddie,  Highland  laddie  ! 


II. 

Satan  sits  in  his  black  neuk  — 

My  bonie  laddie,  Highland  laddie  ! 
Breaking  sticks  to  roast  the  Duke  — 

My  bonie  laddie.  Highland  laddie  ! 
The  bloody  monster  gae  a  yell  — 

My  bonie  laddie.  Highland  laddie  ! 
And  loud  the  laugh  gaed  round  a' 
Hell  — 

My  bonie  laddie,  Highland  laddie  ! 


IT   IS   NA,   JEAN,   THY    BONIE 
FACE. 

["  Originally  English  verses  :  I  gave  them 
their  Scots  dress."     (R.  B.)] 


I. 

It  is  na,  Jean,  thy  bonie  face 

Nor  shape  that  I  admire, 
Altho'  thy  beauty  and  thy  grace 

Might  weel  awauk  desire. 
Something  in  ilka  part  o'  thee 

To  praise,  to  love,  I  find ; 
But,  dear  as  is  thy  form  to  me, 

Still  dearer  is  thy  mind. 


II. 

Nae  mair  ungenerous  wish  I  hae, 

Nor  stronger  in  my  breast. 
Than,  if  I  canna  mak  thee  sae. 

At  least  to  see  thee  blest : 
Content    am    I,   if    Heaven   shall 
give 

But  happiness  to  thee, 
And,  as  wi'  thee  I  wish  to  live, 

For  thee  I  'd  b&ar  to  dee. 


MY   EPPIE   M ACNAB.  —  BONIE   WEE  THING. 


259 


MY   EPPIE    MACNAB. 

["The  old  song  with  this  title  has  more 
wit  than  decency."     (R.  B.)] 


I. 

O,   SAW    ye    my    dearie,    my   Eppie 
Macnab  ? 

O,  saw  ye  my  dearie,  my  Eppie  Mac- 
nab? 
'  She 's   down   in   tlie   yard,   she 's 
kissin  the  laird, 

She  winna  come  hame  to  her  ain  Jock 
Rab!' 


II. 

O,  come  thy  ways  to  me,  my  Eppie 

Macnab  ! 
O,  come  thy  ways  to  me,  my  Eppie 

Macnab  ! 
Whatever  thou  hast  done,  be  it  late, 

be  it  soon, 
Thou's   welcome   again    to   thy   ain 

Jock  Rab. 


III. 

What  says  she,  my  dearie,  my  Eppie 

Macnab? 
What  says  she,  my  dearie,  my  Eppie 

Macnab? 
'  She  lets  thee  to  wit  that  she  has 

thee  forgot. 
And  for  ever  disowns  thee,  her  ain 

Jock  Rab.' 


IV. 

O,  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Eppie 

Macnab  ! 
O,  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Eppie 

Macnab  ! 
As  light  as  the  air  and  as  faiise  as 

thou  \s  fair, 
Thou's  broken  the  heart  o'  thy  ain 

Jock  Rab  ! 


WHA    IS    THAT     AT    MY 
BOVVER   DOOR. 

[Without  any  manner  of  doubt,  Burns's 
original  was  "Who  But  I,  Quoth  Finlay," 
"A  new  song,  much  in  request,  sung  with 
its  own  proper  tune,"j 


'Wha  is  that  at  my  bower  door?' 

'  O,  wha  is  it  but  Findlay  ! ' 
'  Then  gae   your  gate,  ye  "se  nae  be 
here.' 

'Indeed  maun  I  I'  qiio'  Findlay. 
'What  mak  ye,  sae  like  a  thief?' 

'  O,  come  and  see  ! '  quo'  Findlay. 
'  Before   the    morn    ye  11   work   mis- 
chief? ' 

'  Indeed  will  I ! '  quo'  Findlay. 

II. 

'Gif  I  rise  and  let  you  in'  — 

'  Let  me  in  ! '  quo'  Findlay  — 
'  Ye  '11  keep  me  wauken  wi'  your  din?' 

'  Indeed  will  I  ! '  quo'  Findlay. 
'  In  my  bower  if  ye  should  stay  "  — 

'  Let  me  stay  ! '  quo'  Findlay  — 
' I  fear  ye  '11  bide  till  break  o'  day?' 

'  Indeed  will  I ! '  quo'  Findlay. 

III. 

'  Here  this  night  if  ye  remain  '  — • 

'  I  '11  remain  !  '  quo'  Findlay  — 
'  I  dread  ye '11  learn  the  gate  again? ' 

'Indeed  will  I  !'  quo'  Findlay. 
'What  may  pass  within  this  bower' 

('Let  it  pass  ! '  quo'  Findlay  !) 
'  Ye  maun  conceal  till  your  last  hour "  — 

'  Indeed  will  I  ! '  quo'  Findlay. 


BONIE   WEE    THING. 

["  Composed    on    my    little    idol,    '  the 
charming  lovely  Davies."  "     (R.  B.)] 

C/iorus. 

Bonie  wee  thing,  cannie  wee  thing. 
Lovely  wee  thing,  wert  thou  mine, 


26o 


THE  TITHER   MORN.  — AE   FOND   KISS. 


I  wad  wear  thee  in  my  bosom 
Lest  my  jewel  it  should  tine. 


I. 


Wishfully  I  look  and  languish 
In  that  bonie  face  o'  thine, 

And  my  heart  it  stounds  wi'  anguish, 
Lest  my  wee  thing  be  na  mine. 

II. 

Wit  and  Grace  and  Love  and  Beauty 

In  ae  constellation  shine  ! 
To  adore  thee  is  my  duty, 

Goddess  o'  this  soul  o^  mine ! 

Chorus. 

Bonie  wee  thing,  cannie  wee  thing. 
Lovely  wee  thing,  wert  thou  mine, 

I  wad  wear  thee  in  my  bosom 
Lest  my  jewel  it  should  tine. 


THE   TITHER   MORN. 

["  This  tune  is  originally  from  the  High- 
lands. I  have  heard  a  Gaelic  song  to  it, 
which  I  was  told  was  very  clever,  but  not 
by  any  means  a  lady's  song."     (R.  B.)] 


The  tither  morn,  when  I  forlorn 

Aneath  an  aik  sat  moaning, 
I  did  na  trow  I  'd  see  my  jo 

Beside  me  gin  the  gloaming, 
But  he  sae  trig  lap  o'er  the  rig, 

And  dawtingly  did  cheer  me. 
When  I,  what  reck,  did  least  expeck 

To  see  my  lad  sae  near  me  ! 


II. 

His  bonnet  he  a  thought  ajee 

Cock'd  spunk  when  first  he  clasped 
me ; 

And  I,  I  wat,  wi'  fainness  grat. 
While  in  his  grips  he  pressed  me. 

■  Deil  tak  the  war  ! '  I  late  and  air 
Hae  wish'd  since  Jock  departed  ; 


But  now  as  glad  I  'm  wi'  my  lad 
As  short  syne  broken-hearted. 

III. 

Fu'  aft  at  e'en,  wi'  dancing  keen. 

When  a'  were  blythe  and  merry, 
I  car'd  na  by,  sae  sad  was  I 

In  absence  o'  my  deary. 
But   praise  be  blest !  my  mind 's 
rest, 

I  'm  happy  wi'  my  Johnie  ! 
At  kirk  and  fair,  I  'se  ay  be  there, 

And  be  as  canty  's  onie. 


at 


AE   FOND   KISS. 

[Burns  wrote  to  Mrs.  M'Lehose  ("  Cla- 
rinda"),  Dec.  27,  1791 :  "I  have  just  ten 
minutes  before  the  post  goes,  and  these  1 
shall  employ  in  sending  you  some  songs  1 
have  just  been  composing  to  different  tunes 
for  the  '  Collection  of  Songs,'  of  which  you 
have  three  volumes,  and  of  which  you  shall 
have  the  fourth."  The  germ  of  "  Ae  Fond 
Kiss,"  is  found  in  "  The  Parting  Kiss,"  by 
Robert  Dodsley  (1703-1764).] 


Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever  ! 
Ae  farewell,  and  then  for  ever  ! 
Deep  in  heart-wrung  tears  I  '11  pledge 

thee. 
Warring  sighs  and  groans  I  '11  wage 

thee. 
Who  shall  say  that  Fortune  grieves 

him, 
While   the   star  of  hope   she  leaves 

him? 
Me,  nae  cheerfu'  twinkle  lights  me. 
Dark  despair  around  benights  me 

II. 

I  '11  ne'er  blame  my  partial  fancy : 
Naething  could  resist  my  Nancy  ! 
But  to  see  her  was  to  love  her. 
Love  but  her,  and  love  for  ever. 
Had  we  never  lov'd  sae  kindly, 
Had  wp  never  lov'd  sae  blindly, 


LOVELY   DAVIES.  — THE   WEARY   FUND   O'   TOW. 


261 


Never  met  —  or  never  parted  — 
We  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted. 


III. 

Fare-thee-weel,  thou  first  and  fairest ! 

Fare-thee-weel,  thou  best  and  dearest ! 

Thine  be  ilka  joy  and  treasure, 

Peace,  Enjoyment,  Love,  and  Pleas- 
ure ! 

Ae  fond  kiss  and  then  we  sever  ! 

Ae  farewell,  alas,  for  ever ! 

Deep  in  heart-wrung  tears  1 11  pledge 
thee, 

Warring  sighs  and  groans  I  '11  wage 
thee. 


LOVELY   DAVIES. 

[This  was  composed  in  honor  of  the 
lady  who  inspired  "  The  Bonie  Wee  Thing." 
"We  know  not  much  about  the  Lovely 
Davies,  but  in  Burns's  stanzas  she  is  the 
very  sovereign  of  Nature."  —  WILLIAM 
ScoTT  Douglas.] 

I. 

O,  HOW  shall  I,  unskilfu',  try 

The  Poet's  occupation? 
The  tunefu'  Powers,  in  happy  hours 

That  whisper  inspiration. 
Even  they  maun  dare  an  effort  mair 

Than  aught  they  ever  gave  us. 
Ere  they  rehearse  in  equal  verse 

The  charms  o'  lovely  Davies 

II. 

Each  eye,  it  cheers,  when  she  appears, 

Like  Phoebus  in  the  morning, 
When   past   the   shower,  and   every 
flower 
The  garden  is  adorning  ! 
As   the   wretch   looks   o'er   Siberia's 
shore. 
When  winter-bound  the  wave  is, 
Sae  droops  our  heart,  when  we  maun 
part 
Frae  charming,  lovely  Davies. 


III. 

Her  smile  's  a  gift  frae  'boon  the  lift, 

That  maks  us  mair  than  princes. 
A  sceptred  hand,  a  king's  command. 

Is  in  her  darting  glances. 
The    man   in    arms     'gainst    female 
charms, 

Even  he  her  willing  slave  is  : 
He    hugs   his    chain,   and  owns   the 
reign 

Of  conquering  lovely  Davies. 

IV. 

My  Muse  to  dream  of  such  a  theme 

Her  feeble  powers  surrenders  ; 
The  eagle's  gaze  alone  surveys 

The  sun's  meridian  splendours. 
I  wad  in  vain  essay  the  strain  — 

The  deed  too  daring  brave  is  ! 
I  '11  drap  the  lyre,  and,  mute,  admire 

The  charms  o'  lovely  Davies. 


THE   WEARY   PUND    O'   TOW. 

[Buchan  furnished  Hogg  and  Mother- 
well with  several  stanzas  of  a  "very  old 
song,  which  perhaps  Burns  had  in  view 
when  he  composed  the  above."] 

Chorus. 

The  weary  pund.  the  weary  pund, 
The  weary  pund  o'  tow  ! 

I  think  my  wife  will  end  her  life 
Before  she  spin  her  tow. 


I  BOUGHT  my  wife  a  stane  o'  lint 
As  guid  as  e'er  did  grow. 

And  a'  that  she  has  made  o'  that 
Is  ae  puir  pund  o'  tow. 

II. 

There  sat  a  bottle  in  a  bole 

Beyont  the  ingle  low  ; 
And  ay  she  took  the  tither  souk 

To  drouk  the  stourie  tow. 


262      I  HAE  A  WIFE  O'  MY  AIN.  — O,  FOR  ANE-AND-TWENTY,  TAM. 


III. 


Quoth     I  :  —  '  For    shame,    ye   dirty 
dame, 

Gae  spin  your  tap  o'  tow  ! ' 
She  took  the  rock,  and  vvi'  a  knock 

She  brake  it  o'er  my  pow. 

IV. 

At  last  her  feet  —  I  sang  to  see't!  — 
Gaed  foremost  o'er  the  knowe, 

And  or  I  wad  anither  jad, 
I  '11  wallop  in  a  tow. 

Choj-iis. 

The  weary  pund,  the  weary  pund, 
The  weary  pund  o'  tow  ! 

I  think  my  wife  will  end  her  life 
Before  she  spin  her  tow. 


I    HAE   A  WIFE   O'   MY   AIN. 

[Composed   a  few  days    after    Burns's 
marriage.] 

I. 

I  HAE  a  wife  o'  my  ain, 
I  '11  partake  wi'  naebody  : 

I  '11  take  cuckold  frae  nane, 
I  '11  gie  cuckold  to  naebody. 

II. 

I  hae  a  penny  to  spend, 

There  —  thanks  to  naebody  ! 

I  hae  naething  to  lend, 
I  '11  borrow  frae  naebody. 

III. 

I  am  naebody's  lord, 

I  *11  be  slave  to  naebody. 

I  hae  a  guid  braid  sword, 
I  '11  tak  dunts  frae  naebody. 

IV. 

I  'II  be  merry  and  free, 
I  '11  be  sad  for  naebody. 

Naebody  cares  for  me, 
I  care  for  naebody. 


WHEN    SHE    CAM    BEN,    SHE 
BOBBED. 

[The  first  two  stanzas  differ  very  slightly 
from  the  first  two  of  an  old  set.  The  others 
are  pure  Burns.] 


O,  WHEN  she  cam  ben,  she  bobbed 

fu'  law  ! 
O,  when  she  cam  ben,  she  bobbed 

fu'  law  ! 
And  wlien  she  cam   ben,  she  kiss'd 

Cockpen, 
And  syne  she  deny'd  she  did  it  at  a' ! 

II. 

And  was  na  Cockpen  right  saucy 

witha'  ? 
And  was  na  Cockpen  right  saucy 

witha', 
In  leaving  the  dochter  o'  a  lord. 
And  kissin  a  collier  lassie  an'  a'  ? 


III. 

O,  never  look  down,  my  lassie,  at  a' ! 

O,  never  look  down,  my  lassie,  at  a' ! 

Thy  lips  are  as  sweet,  and  thy  figure 

complete, 

As  the  finest  dame  in  castle  or  ha'. 


IV. 

*Tho'  thou  hast  nae  silk,  and  hol- 

land  sae  sma', 
Tho'  thou  hast  nae  silk,  and  holland 

sae  sma'. 
Thy  coat  and  thy  sark   are    thy  ain 

handywark, 
And  Lady  Jean  was  never  sae  braw.' 


O,  FOR   ANE-AND-TWENTY, 
TAM. 

[Perhaps  suggested  by  a  song  in  "  The 
Pretty  Maiden's  Amusement,"  and  other 
undated   song-books.] 


O,   LEEZE   ME   ON   MY   SPINNIN-WHEEL. 


263 


Chorus. 

An'  O,  for  ane-and-twenty,  Tam  ! 

And  hey,  sweet  ane-and-twenty, 
Tam  ! 
I  '11  learn  my  kin  a  rattlin  sang 

An  I  saw  ane-and-twenty,  Tam. 


They  snool  me  sair,  and   baud   me 
dow-n. 
And  gar  me  look  like  bluntie,  Tam  ; 
But  three  short  years  will  soon  wiieel 
roun'  — 
And   then  comes   ane-and-twenty, 
Tam ! 

II. 

A  gleib  o'  Ian',  a  claut  o'  gear 
Was  left  me  by  my  auntie,  Tam. 

At  kith  or  kin  I  needna  spier. 
An  I  saw  ane-and-twenty,  Tam. 

III. 

They  '11  hae  me  wed  a  wealthy  coof, 
Tho'  I  mysel  hae  plenty,  Tam  ; 

But  hear'st  thou,  laddie  —  there 's  my 
loof: 
I  'm  thine  at  ane-and-twenty,  Tam  ! 

Chorus. 

An'  O,  for  ane-and-twenty,  Tam  ! 

And  hey,  sweet  ane-and-twenty, 
Tam! 
I  '11  learn  my  kin  a  ratthn  sang 

An  I  saw  ane-and-twenty,  Tam. 


O,  KENMURE'S  ON  AND  AWA, 
WILLIE. 

[William  Gordon,  sixth  Viscount  Ken- 
mure,  took  up  the  Jacobite  cause  in  1715. 
He  was  taken  prisoner  at  Preston  Pans, 
Nov.  14,  and  beheaded  on  Tower  Hill,  Feb. 
24,  1716.J 


O,  Kenmure  's  on  and  awa,  Willie, 
O,  Kenmure 's  on  and  awa  ! 


An'  Kenmure's  lord  's  the  bravest  lord 
That  ever  Galloway  saw  ! 

II. 

Success  to  Kenmure's  band,  Willie, 
Success  to  Kenmure's  band  ! 

There  's  no  a  heart  that  fears  a  Whig 
That  rides  by  Kenmure's  hand. 

III. 

Here 's    Kenmure's   health   in   wine, 
Willie, 
Here  "s  Kenmure's  health  in  wine  ! 
There  ne'er  was  a   coward  o'   Ken- 
mure's blude, 
Nor  yet  o'  Gordon's  line. 

IV. 

O,  Kenmure's  lads  are  men,  Willie, 
O,  Kenmure's  lads  are  men  ! 

Their  hearts  and  swords  are  metal 
true, 
And  that  their  faes  shall  ken. 


They  '11  live  or  die  wi'  fame,  Willie, 
They  '11  live  or  die  wi'  fame  ! 

But  soon  wi'  sounding  Victorie 
May  Kenmure's  lord  come  hame  ! 

VI. 

Here  's  him  that 's  far  awa,  Willie, 
Here 's  him  that 's  far  awa  I 

And    here 's   the   flower   that   I   lo'e 
best  — 
The  rose  that 's  like  the  snaw  ! 


O,  LEEZE  ME  ON  MY  SPINNIN- 
WHEEL. 

[This  charming  song  was  no  doubt 
suggested  by  "  The  Loving  Lass  and  Spin- 
ning-Wheel  "  in  Ramsay's  "  Tea-Table  ^Iis- 
cellany."] 

I. 

O,  LEEZE  me  on  my  spinnin-wheel ! 
And  leeze  me  on  my  rock  and  reel, 


264        MY  COLLIER  LADDIE.  — NITHSD ALE'S  WELCOME  HAME. 


Frae  tap  to  tae  that  deeds  me  bien, 
And  haps  me  fiel  and  warm  at  e'en  ! 
I  '11  set  me  down,  and  sing,  and  spin, 
While    laigh    descends   the   summer 


'My   name,'   she   says,    'is    Mistress 
Jean, 
And  I  follow  the  collier  laddie.' 


sun, 
Blest    wi'    content,    and    milk    and 

meal  — 
O,  leeze  me  on  my  spinnin-wheel  ! 

II. 

On  ilka  hand  the  burnies  trot. 
And  meet  below  my  theekit  cot. 
The  scented  birk  and  hawthorn  white 
Across  the  pool  their  arms  unite, 
Alike  to  screen  the  birdie's  nest 
And  little  fishes'  caller  rest. 
The  sun  blinks  kindly  in  the  biel, 
Where    blythe    I    turn   my   spinnin- 
wheel. 

III. 

On  lofty  aiks  the  cushats  wail. 
And  Echo  cons  the  doolfu'  tale. 
The  lintwhites  in  the  hazel  braes, 
Delighted,  rival  ither's  lays. 
The  craik  amang  the  claver  hay. 
The  paitrick  whirrin  o'er  the  ley, 
The  swallow  jinkin  round  my  shiel. 
Amuse  me  at  my  spinnin-wheel. 

IV. 

Wi'  sma  to  sell  and  less  to  buy, 
Aboon  distress,  below  envy, 
O,  wha  wad  leave  this  humble  state 
For  a'  the  pride  of  a'  the  great  ? 
Amid  their  flaring,  idle  toys, 
Amid  their  cumbrous,  dinsome  joys. 
Can  they  the  peace  and  pleasure  feel 
Of  Bessy  at  her  spinnin-wheel  ? 


MY  COLLIER    LADDIE. 

["  I  do  not  know  a  blither  old  song  than 
this."     (R.  B.)] 


O,  WHARE  live  ye,  my  bonie  lass. 
And  tell  me  how  they  ca'  ye  ? ' 


II. 

'  O,  see  you  not  yon  hills  and  dales 
The  sun  shines  on  sae  brawlie? 

They  a'  are  mine,  and  they  shall  be 
thine. 
Gin  ye  '11  leave  your  collier  laddie  ! 

III. 

^  An'  ye  shall  gang  in  gay  attire, 
Weel  buskit  up  sae  gaudy, 

And  ane  to  wait  on  every  hand, 
Gin  ye  '11  leave  your  collier  laddie  ! ' 

IV. 

'Tho'  ye  had  a'  the  sun  shines  on, 
And  the  earth  conceals  sae  lowly, 

I  wad  turn  my  back  on  you  and  it  a', 
And  embrace  my  collier  laddie. 

V. 

'  I  can  win  my  five  pennies  in  a  day, 
An'  spend  it  at  night  fu'  brawlie, 

And   make  my  bed   in   the   collier's 
neuk 
And  lie  down  wi'  my  collier  laddie. 

VI. 

'  Loove  for  loove  is  the  bargain  for 

me, 
Tho'  the  wee  cot-house  should  haud 

me, 
And  the  warld  before  me  to  win  my 

bread  — 
And  fair  fa'  my  collier  laddie  ! ' 


NITHSDALE'S  WELCOME 
HAME. 

[William  Lord  Maxwell,  who  was  sen- 
tenced to  decapitation  on  Tower  Hill,  Feb. 


IN   SIMMER,   WHEN  THE   HAY   WAS  MAWN.  — FAIR   ELIZA.      265 


24,  1716,  for  his  share  in  the  "  Fifteen,"  but 
escaped  the  night  before  the  execution.] 


The  noble  Maxwells  and  their  powers 

Are  coming  o'er  the  border ; 
And    they  '11    gae     big     Terreagles' 
towers, 

And  set  them  a'  in  order ; 
And  they  declare  Terreagles  fair, 

For  their  abode  they  choose  it : 
There 's  no  a  heart  in  a'  the  land 

But 's  lighter  at  the  news  0  't ! 

II. 

Tho'  stars  in  skies  may  disappear, 

And  angry  tempests  gather, 
The  happy  hour  may  soon  be  near 

That  brings  us  pleasant  weather ; 
The  weary  night  o'  care  and  grief 

May  hae  a  joyfu'  morrow  ; 
So  dawning  day  has  brought  relief — 

Fareweel  our  night  o'  sorrow  ! 


IN  SIMMER,  WHEN  THE  HAY 
WAS  MAWN. 

[The  stanza  is  modified  from  the  ballad 
octave.  The  Burns  Ms.  is  in  the  Hastie 
Collection.] 

I. 

In  simmer,  when  the  hay  was  mawn 
And  corn  wav'd  green  in  ilka  field, 
While  claver  blooms  white  o'er  the 
ley. 
And  roses  blaw  in  ilka  bield, 
Blythe  Bessie  in  the  milking  shiel 
Says  :  —  ^  "11  be  wed,  come  o  't  what 
will  ! ' 
Out   spake    a   dame    in    wrinkled 
eild  :  — 
'  O'  guid  advisement  comes  nae  ill. 

II. 

'  It 's  ye  hae  wooers  monie  ane, 
And  lassie,  yeVe  but  young,  ye  ken! 

Then  wait  a  wee,  and  cannie  wale 
A  routhie  butt,  a  routhie  ben. 


There  Johnie  o'  the  Buskie-Glen, 
Fu'  is  his  barn,  fu'  is  his  byre. 

Tak  this  frae  me,  my  bonie  hen : 
It 's  plenty  beets  the  luver's  fire  ! ' 

III. 

'  For  Johnie  o'  the  Buskie-Glen 

I  dinna  care  a  single  flie : 
He  lo'es  sae  weel  his  craps  and  kye. 

He  has  nae  love  to  spare  for  me. 

But  blythe 's  the  blink  o'  Robie's  e'e. 
And  weel  I  wat  he  lo'es  me  dear : 

Ae  blink  o'  him  I  wad  na  gie 
For  Buskie-Glen  and  a'  his  gear.' 

IV. 

'  O  thoughtless  lassie,  life  's  a  faught ! 

The  canniest  gate,  the  strife  is  sair. 
But  ay  fu'-han't  is  fechtin  best : 

A  hungry  care's  an  unco  care. 

But  some  will  spend,  and  some  will 
spare, 
An'  wilfu'  folk  maun  hae  their  will. 

Syne  as  ye  brew,  my  maiden  fair. 
Keep  mind  that  ye  maun  drink  the 
yill ! ' 

V. 

'  O,  gear  will  buy  me  rigs  o'  land. 
And  gear  will  buy  me  sheep  and 
kye  ! 
But  the  tender  heart  0'  leesome  loove 
The  gowd  and  siller  canna  buy  ! 
We  may  be  poor,  Robie  and  I ; 
Light  is  the  burden  luve  lays  on  ; 
Content  and  loove  brings  peace  and 
joy: 
What    mair    hae    Queens     upon     a 
throne  ? ' 


FAIR   ELIZA. 

[Two  copies  in  Burns's  hand  are  in  the 
Hastie  Collection.  In  the  earlier  the  lady's 
name  is  Robina.] 


Turn  again,  thou  fair  Eliza  ! 
Ae  kind  blink  before  we  part  I 


266 


YE  JACOBITES   BY  NAME.— THE   POSIE. 


Rew  on  thy  despairing  lover  — 
Canst  thou  break  his  faithfu' heart  ? 

Turn  again,  thou  fair  Eliza  ! 
If  to  love  thy  heart  denies, 

For  pity  hide  the  cruel  sentence 
Under  friendship's  kind  disguise  ! 


II. 

Thee,  dear  maid,  hae  I  oifended? 

The  offence  is  loving  thee. 
Canst  thou  wreck  his  peace  for  ever, 

Wha  for  thine  wad  gladly  die? 
While  the  life  beats  in  my  bosom, 

Thou  shalt  mix  in  ilka  throe. 
Turn  again,  thou  lovely  maiden, 

Ae  sweet  smile  on  me  bestow  ! 


III. 

Not  the  bee  upon  the  blossom 

In  the  pride  o'  sinny  noon, 
Not  the  little  sporting  fairy 

All  beneath  the  simmer  moon, 
Not  the  Poet  in  the  moment 

Fancy  lightens  in  his  e'e. 
Kens  the  pleasure,  feels  the  rapture, 

That  thy  presence  gies  to  me. 


YE   JACOEITES    BY   NAME. 

["If  a  reference  to  the  French  Revolu- 
tion is  meant,  it  is  extremely  obscure.  The 
'  man  undone,'  if  Henry,  Cardinal  Duke  of 
York,  is  intended,  had,  of  course,  no  party, 
except  the  Laird  of  Gask,  in  1792,  when  the 
song  was  published." — ANDREW  LanG.] 


I. 

Ye  Jacobites  by  name. 

Give  an  ear,  give  an  ear ! 
Ye  Jacobites  by  name, 

Give  an  ear  ! 
Ye  Jacobites  by  name, 
Your  fautes  I  will  proclaim. 
Your  doctrines  I  maun  blame  — 
You  shall  hear ! 


II. 

What  is  Right,  and  what  is  Wrang, 

By  the  law,  by  the  law  ? 
What  is  Right,  and  what  is  Wrang, 

By  the  law  ? 
What  is  Right,  and  what  is  Wrang  ? 
A  short  sword  and  a  lang, 
A  weak  arm  and  a  Strang 

For  to  draw ! 


III. 

What  makes  heroic  strife 

Famed  afar,  famed  afar  ? 
What  makes  heroic  strife 

Famed  afar  ? 
What  makes  heroic  strife  ? 
To  whet  th'  assassin's  knife, 
Or  hunt  a  Parent's  life 

Wi'  bluidy  war ! 

IV. 

Then  let  your  schemes  alone, 
In  the  State,  in  the  State  ! 
Then  let  your  schemes  alone. 

In  the  State  ! 
Then  let  your  schemes  alone. 
Adore  the  rising  sun. 
And  leave  a  man  undone 

To  his  fate  ! 


THE   POSIE. 

["  '  The  Posie  '  in  the  '  Museum  '  is  my 
composition  ;  the  air  was  taken  down  from 
Mrs.  Burns's  voice.  It  is  well  known  in  the 
west  country,  but  the  old  words  are  trash." 
(R.  B.)] 

I. 

O,  LUVE  will  venture  in  where  it  daur 

na  weel  be  seen  ! 
O,  luve  will  venture  in,  where  wisdom 

ance  hath  been  ! 
But  I  will  doun  yon  river  rove  amang 

the  wood  sae  green. 
And  a'  to  pu'  a  posie  to  my  ain 

dear  May  ! 


THE  BANKS   O'   DOON.  — WILLIE   WASTLE. 


267 


n. 

The  primrose  I  will  pu\  the  firstling 

o'  the  year, 
And  I  will  pu'  the  pink,  the  emblem 

o'  my  dear. 
For  she  's  the  pink  o'  womankind,  and 

blooms  without  a  peer  — 
And  a^  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear 

May  ! 

III. 

I  '11  pu'  the  budding  rose  when  Phoe- 
bus peeps  in  view. 

For   it 's   like  a   baumy  kiss   o'   her 
sweet,  bonie  mou. 

The  hyacinth's  for  constancy  wi'  its 
unchanging  blue  — 
And  a'  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear 
May! 

IV. 

The  lily  it  is  pure,  and  the  lily  it  is 
fair, 

And  in  her  lovely  bosom   I  Ul  place 
the  lily  there. 

The   daisy's   for   simplicity  and   un- 
affected air  — 
And  a'  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear 
May  ! 

V. 

The  hawthorn  I  will  pu',  wi'  its  locks 

o'  siller  gray, 
Where,  like  an  aged  man,  it  stands 

at  break  o'  day  ; 
But   the   songster's    nest  within   the 

bush  I  winna  tak  away  — 
And  a'  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear 

May  ! 

VI. 

The  woodbine  I   will  pu'  when   the 

e'ening  star  is  near, 
And  the  diamond  draps  o'  dew  shall 

be  her  een  sae  clear  ! 
The  violet 's  for  modesty,  which  weel 

she  fa's  to  wear  — 
And  a'  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear 

May  ! 


VII. 

I  "11  tie  the  posie  round  wi'  the  silken 

band  o'  luve, 
And  I  '11  place  it  in  her  breast,  and 

I  '11  swear  by  a'  above. 
That  to  my  latest  draught  o'  life  the 

band  shall  ne'er  remove. 
And  this  will  be  a  posie  to  my  ain 

dear  May  ! 


THE   BANKS   O'   DOON. 

["  An  Ayrshire  Legend,"  according  to 
Allan  Cunningham,  "  says  the  heroine  of 
this  affecting  song  was  Pegg  Kennedy  of 
Daljarroch."] 

I. 

Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonie  Doon, 
How  can  ye  bloom  sae  fresh  and 
fair  ? 
How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds. 

And  I  sae  weary  fu'  o'  care  ! 
Thou '11  break    my  heart,    thou  war- 
bling bird, 
That  wantons  thro'  the  flowering 
thorn  ! 
Thou  minds  me  o'  departed  joys, 
Departed  never  to  return.         / 

II. 

Aft  hae  I  rov'd  by  bonie  Doon 

To    see    the    rose    and   woodbine 
twine, 
And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  luve. 

And  fondly  sae  did  I  o'  mine. 
Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose, 

Fu'  sweet  upon  its  thorny  tree  ! 
And  my  fause  luver  staw  my  rose  — 

But  ah  !  he  left  the  thorn  wi'  me. 


WILLIE  WASTLE. 

[The  heroine  is  said  to  have  been  the 
wife  of  a  farmer  who  lived  near  Ellisland. 
A  cottage  in  Peeblesshire  was  known  by  the 


268 


LADY  MARY  ANN. 


name  of  Linkumdoddie,  but  probably  it  was 
so  named  after  Burns  wrote  his  song.] 


Willie  Wastle  dwalt  on  Tweed, 

The  spot  they  ca'd  it  Linkumdoddie. 
Willie  was  a  wabster  guid 

Could  stown  a  clue  wi'  onie  bodie. 
He  had  a  wife  was  dour  and  din, 

O,  Tinkler  Maidgie  was  her  mither  ! 
Sic  a  wife  as  Willie  had, 

I  wad  na  gie  a  button  for  her. 


II. 

She  has  an  e'e  (she  has  but  ane), 

The  cat  has  twa  the  very  colour, 
Five  rusty  teeth,  forbye  a  stump, 

A  clapper-tongue  wad  deave  a  mil- 
ler ; 
A  whiskin  beard  about  her  mou, 

Her  nose  and  chin  they  threaten 
ither : 
Sic  a  wife  as  Willie  had, 

I  wad  na  gie  a  button  for  her. 

III. 

She's  bow-hough'd,  she's  hem-shin'd, 

Ae     limpin     leg     a     hand  -  breed 
shorter : 
She's  twisted  right,  she  's  twisted  left. 

To  balance  fair  in  ilka  quarter ; 
She  has  a  hump  upon  her  breast, 

The  twin  o'  that  upon  her  shouther : 
Sic  a  wife  as  Willie  had, 

I  wad  na  gie  a  button  for  her. 


IV. 

Auld  baudrans  by  the  ingle  sits. 

An'  wi'  her  loof  her  face  a-washin ; 
But  Willie's  wife  is  nae  sae  trig. 

She  dights  her  grunzie  wi'  a  hush- 
ion  ; 
Her  walie  nieves  like  midden-creels, 

Her  face  wad  fyle  the  Logan  Water  : 
Sic  a  wife  as  Willie  had, 

I  wad  na  gie  a  button  for  her. 


LADY   MARY  ANN. 

[An  old  ballad  in  the  northern  and  western 
parts  of  Scotland.  Burns  got  the  germ  of 
his  song  from  a  fragment  in  the  Herd  Ms.  ] 


I. 


O,   Lady  Mary  Ann  looks  o'ei  the 

Castle  wa'. 
She  saw  three  bonie  boys  playing  at 

the  ba'. 
The    youngest    he    was    the    flower 

amang  them  a'  — 
My  bonie  laddie  's  young,  but  he  's 

growin  yet ! 


II. 

'  O  father,  O  father,  an  ye  think  it  fit, 
We  '11  send  him  a  year  to  the  college 

yet; 
We  '11  sew  a  green  ribbon  round  about 

his  hat. 
And  that  will  let  them  ken  he  's  to 

marry  yet ! ' 

III. 

Lady  Mary  Ann  was  a  flower  in  the 

dew, 
Sweet  was  its  smell  and  bonie  was 

its  hue, 
And    the    longer    it    blossom'd    the 

sweeter  it  grew. 
For   the   lily   in   the   bud  will   be 

bonier  yet. 

IV. 

Young  Charlie  Cochran  was  the  sprout 

of  an  aik ; 
Bonie  and  bloomin  and  straucht  was 

its  make ; 
The  sun  took  delight  to  shine  for  its 

sake. 
And   it  will   be   the    brag    o'   the 

forest  yet. 


SUCH  A  PARCEL  OF  ROGUES. —  KELLYBURN  BRAES. 


269 


The  simmer  is  gane  when  the  leaves 

they  were  green, 
And   the  days  are  awa  that  we  hae 

seen ; 
But  far  better  days  I  trust  will  come 

again, 
For  my  bonie  laddie's  young,  but 

he's  growin  yet. 


SUCH   A  PARCEL  OF  ROGUES 
IN   A   NATION. 

[The  refrain  is  borrowed  from  the  name 
of  the  old  air  to  which  it  is  adapted.] 


Fareweel  to  a'  our  Scottish  fame, 

Fareweel  our  ancient  glory  ! 
Fareweel  ev'n  to  the  Scottish  name, 

Sae  famed  in  martial  story ! 
Now  Sark  rins  over  Solway  sands. 

An'  Tweed  rins  to  the  ocean. 
To    mark  where  England's  province 
stands  — 

Such  a  parcel  of  rogues  in  a  nation  ! 

II. 

What  force  or  guile  could  not  subdue 

Thro'  many  warlike  ages 
Is  wrought  now  by  a  coward  few 

For  hireling  traitor's  wages. 
The  English  steel  we  could  disdain. 

Secure  in  valour's  station  : 
But  English  gold  has  been  our  bane  — 

Such  a  parcel  of  rogues  in  a  nation  ! 

III. 

O,  would,  or  I  had  seen  the  day 

That  Treason  thus  could  sell  us, 
My  auld  grey  head  had  lien  in  clay 

Wi"  Bruce  and  loyal  Wallace  ! 
But  pith  and  power,  till  my  last  hour 

I  '11  mak  this  declaration  :  — 
'We  're  bought  and  sold  for  English 
gold '  — 

Such  a  parcel  of  rogues  in  a  nation  ! 


KELLYBURN    BRAES. 

[The  Kelly  burn  {i.e.,  brook)  forms  the 
northern  boundary  of  Ayrshire,  and  the 
ballad  has  no  connection  with  Nithsdale 
or  Gilloway.  Burns  derived  his  material, 
probably,  from  an  old  English  blackletter 
ballad,  "  The  Devil  and  the  Scold."] 


I. 

There  lived  a  carl  in  Kellyburn  Braes 
(Hey  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi' 
thyme  !), 
And  he  had  a  wife  was  the  plague  o' 
his  days 
(And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and 
rue  is  in  prime  !). 

II. 

Ae  day  as  the  carl  gaed  up  the  lang 
glen 
(Hey  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi' 
thyme  !), 
He  met  wi'  the  Devil,  says  :  —  •  How 
do  you  fen?' 
(And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and 
rue  is  in  prime  !). 

III. 

'■  I  've  got  a  bad  wife,  sir,  that 's  a'  my 
complaint 
(Hey  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi' 
thyme  !), 
For,  saving  your  presence,  to  her  ye  're 
a  saint' 
(And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and 
rue  is  in  prime  !). 

IV. 

'It's  neither  your  stot  nor  your  staig 
I  shall  crave 
(Hey  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi' 
thyme  !), 
'  But  gie  me  your  wife,  man,  for  her  I 
must  have ' 
(And     the   thyme    it    is    wither'd, 
and  rue  is  in  prime  !). 


270 


KELLYBURN   BRAES. 


'  O  welcome  most  kindly  ! '  the  blythe 
carl  said 
(Hey  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi^ 
thyme  !), 
'  But  if  ye  can  match  her  ye  're  waur 
than  ye  Ve  ca'd ' 
(And  the  thyme  it  is  withered,  and 
rue  is  in  prime  !). 

VI. 

The  Devil  has  got  the  auld  wife  on 
his  back 
(Hey  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi' 
thyme  !), 
And  like  a  poor  pedlar  he  's  carried 
his  pack 
(And  the  thyme  it  is  withered,  and 
rue  is  in  prime  !). 

VII. 

He 's  carried  her  hame  to  his  ain  hal- 
lan-door 
(Hey  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi' 
thyme  !), 
Syne  bade  her  gae  in  for  a  bitcL  and 
a  whore 
(And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and 
rue  is  in  prime  !). 

VIII. 

Then  straight  he  makes  fifty,  the  pick 
o'  his  band 
(Hey  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi' 
thyme  !), 
Turn  out  on  her  guard  in  the  clap  o' 
a  hand 
(And  the  thyme  it  is  withered,  and 
loie  is  in  prime  !) . 

IX. 

The  carlin  gaed  thro'  them  like  onie 

wud  bear 
(Hey  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi' 

thyme  !)  : 
Whae'er  she  gat  hands  on  cam  ne'er 

her  nae  mair 


(And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and 
rue  is  in  prime  !). 

X. 

A  reekit  wee  deevil  looks  over  the  wa' 
(Hey  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi' 
thyme  !)  :  — 
'  O  help,  maister,  help,  or  she  '11  ruin 
us  a'  ! ' 
(And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and 
rue  is  in  prime  !). 

XI. 

The  Devil  he  swore  by  the  edge  o'  his 
knife 
(Hey  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi' 
thyme  !), 
He  pitied  the  man  that  was  tied  to  a 
wife 
(And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and 
rue  is  in  prime  !) . 

XII. 

The  Devil  he  swore  by  the  kirk  and 
the  bell 
(Hey  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi' 
thyme  !), 
He  was  not  in  wedlock,  thank  Heav'n, 
but  in  Hell 
(And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and 
rue  is  in  prime  !). 

XIII. 

Then  Satan  has  travell'd  again  wi'  his 
pack 
(Hey  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi' 
thyme  !), 
And  to  her  auld  husband  he  's  carried 
her  back 
(And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and 
rue  is  in  prime  !). 

XIV. 

'I  hae  been  a  Devil  the  feck  o'  my 
life 
(Hey  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi' 
thyme  !), 


THE   SLAVE'S   LAMENT.  — SWEET   AFTON. 


271 


But  ne'er  was  in  Hell  till  I  met  wi'  a 
wife ' 
(And  the  thyme  it  is  withered,  and 
rue  is  in  prime  !). 


THE   SLAVE'S    LAMENT. 

[The  original  is  probably  a  blackletter 
broadside,  "The  Trappan'd  Maiden,  or 
The  Distressed  Damsel."] 


It  was  in  sweet  Senegal 
That  my  foes  did  me  enthral 

For  the  lands  of  Virginia,  -ginia,  O  ! 
Torn  from  that  lovely  shore, 
And  must  never  see  it  more, 

And  alas  !  1  am  weary,  weary,  O  ! 

II. 

All  on  that  charming  coast 
Is  no  bitter  snow  and  frost, 

Like  the  lands  of  Virginia,  -ginia,  O! 
There  streams  for  ever  flow. 
And  the  flowers  for  ever  blow, 

And  alas  !  I  am  weary,  weary,  O  ! 

III. 

The  burden  I  must  bear. 
While  the  cruel  scourge  I  fear, 

In  the  lands  of  Virginia,  -ginia,  O  ! 
And  I  think  on  friends  most  dear 
With  the  bitter,  bitter  tear, 

And  alas  !  I  am  weary,  weary,  O  ! 


THE   SONG  OF   DEATH. 

["  I  have  just  finished  the  following  song, 
which,  to  a  lady,  the  descendant  of  many 
heroes  of  her  truly  illustrious  line,  and  her- 
self the  mother  of  several  soldiers,  needs 
neither  preface  nor  apology."     (R.  B.)] 


Farewell,  thou  fair  day,  thou  green 
earth,  and  ye  skies, 
Now  gay  with  the  broad  setting 
sun ! 


Farewell,    loves    and   friendships,  ye 
dear  tender  ties  — 
Our  race  of  existence  is  mn  ! 
Thou  grim    King   of  Terrors  !    thou 
Life's  gloomy  foe, 
Go,    frighten     the     coward     and 
slave  ! 
Go,  teach  them  to  tremble,  fell  tyrant, 
but  know. 
No  terrors  hast  thou  to  the  brave  ! 


II. 

Thou  strik'st  the   dull  peasant  —  he 
sinks  in  the  dark. 
Nor   saves   e'en   the   wreck   of  a 
name  ! 
Thou    strik'st    the    young    hero  —  a 
glorious  mark, 
He  falls  in  the  blaze  of  his  fame  ! 
In   the   field    of    proud    honour,    our 
swords  in  our  hands. 
Our    king    and    our    country    to 
save. 
While  victory  shines    on    Life's    last 
ebbing  sands, 
O,  who  would   not  die  with    the 
brave  ? 


SWEET   AFTON. 

[There  has  been  no  little  discussion  as  to 
the  date,  the  heroine,  and  the  scene  of  this 
song.  Burns,  in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop, 
Feb.  5,  1789,  declares  that  it  was  written  as 
a  "compliment"  to  tlie  "small  river  Afton, 
that  flows  into  Nith,  near  New  Cumnock, 
which  has  some  charming,  wild  romantic 
scenery  on  its  banks."] 


Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy 

green  braes  ! 
Flow  gently,  I  '11  sing  thee  a  song  in 

thy  praise  ! 
My  Mary's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring 

stream  — 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not 

her  dream  ! 


272 


BONIE   BELL.— THE   GALLANT   WEAVER. 


II. 

Thou  stock  dove  whose  echo  resounds 

thro'  the  glen, 
Ye  wild  whistling  blackbirds  in  yon 

thorny  den, 
Thou     green-crested     lapwing,     thy 

screaming  forbear  — 
I  charge  you,  disturb  not  my  slumber- 


ing fair ! 


III. 


How  lofty,  sweet  Afton,  thy  neigh- 
bouring hills. 

Far  markM  with  the  courses  of  clear, 
winding  rills  ! 

There  daily  I  wander,  as  noon  rises 
high. 

My  flocks  and  my  Mary's  sweet  cot 
in  my  eye. 

IV. 

How  pleasant   thy  banks  and  green 

vallies  below, 
Where   wild   in   the   woodlands   the 

primroses  blow 
There  oft,  as  mild  Evening  weeps  over 

the  lea. 
The   sweet-scented   birk  shades   my 

Mary  and  me 

V. 

Thy  crystal  stream,  Afton,  how  lovely 

it  glides, 
And   winds    by   the    cot   where   my 

Mary  resides  ! 
How  wanton   thy  waters  her  snowy 

feet  lave, 
As,   gathering    sweet    flowerets,   she 

stems  thy  clear  wave  ! 

VI. 

Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy 

green  braes  ! 
Flow  gently,  sweet  river,  the  theme  of 

my  lays  ! 
My  Mary  's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring 

stream  — 


Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not 
her  dream  ! 


BONIE   BELL. 

[Written  for  Johnson's  "Museum"  by 
Burns.    Nothing  is  known  of  the  heroine.] 


The  smiling  Spring  comes  in  rejoic- 
ing, 
And  surly  Winter  grimly  flies. 
Now    crystal    clear    are    the    falling 
waters. 
And  bonie  blue  are  the  sunny  skies. 
Fresh  o'er  the  mountains  breaks  forth 
the  morning, 
The  ev'ning  gilds  the  ocean's  swell : 
All  creatures  joy  in  the  sun's  return- 
ing, 
And  I  rejoice  in  my  bonie  Bell. 

II. 

The    flowery     Spring    leads     sunny 
summer, 
The  yellow  Autumn  presses  near ; 
Then    in    his    turn    comes    gloomy 
Winter, 
Till  smiling  Spring  again  appear. 
Thus  seasons  dancing,  life  advancing, 
Old  Time  and  Nature  their  changes 
tell; 
But  never  ranging,  still  unchanging, 
I  adore  my  bonie  Bell. 


THE   GALLANT  WEAVER. 

[Supposed  by  some  to  refer  to  Armour's 
visit  to  Paisley  in  the  spring  of  1786.  Pub- 
Hshed  in  Thomson,  with  "sailor"  substi- 
tuted for  "  weaver."] 

I. 

Where  Cart  rins  rowin  to  the  sea 
By  monie  a  flower  and  spreading  tree. 
There  lives  a  lad,  the  lad  for  me  —   ■ 
He  is  a  gallant  weaver  ! 


HEY,  CA'   THRO'.  — O,   CAN   YE   LABOUR   LEA. 


273 


O,  I  had  wooers  aught  or  nine, 
They  gied  me  rings  and  ribbons  fine, 
And  I  was  fear'd  my  heart  wad  tine, 
And  I  gied  it  to  the  weaver. 

II. 

My  daddie  sign'd  my  tocher-band 
To  gie  the  lad  that  has  the  land ; 
But  to  my  heart  I  'II  add  my  hand, 

And  give  it  to  the  weaver. 
While  birds  rejoice  in  leafy  bowers, 
While  bees  delight  in  opening  flowers, 
While  corn  grows  green  in  summer 
showers, 

I  love  my  gallant  weaver. 


HEY,   CA'   THRO'. 

[Probably  suggested  by  some  old  rhymes 
on  the  coast  towns  of  Fife,  which  Burns 
picked  up  in  Edinburgh.] 

CJiorus. 

Hey,  ca'  thro',  ca'  thro'. 
For  we  hae  mickle  ado  ! 
Hey,  ca'  thro',  ca'  thro'. 
For  we  hae  mickle  ado  ! 


Up  wi'  the  carls  of  Dysart 
And  the  lads  o'  Buckhaven, 

And  the  kimmers  o*  Largo 
And  the  lassies  o'  Leven ! 


II. 

We  hae  tales  to  tell. 

And  we  hae  sangs  to  sing ; 
We  hae  pennies  to  spend, 

And  we  hae  pints  to  bring. 

III. 

We  '11  live  a'  our  days. 

And  them  that  comes  behin'. 
Let  them  do  the  like, 

And  spend  the  gear  they  win  ! 

T 


Chorus. 

Hey,  ca'  thro',  ca'  thro', 
For  we  hae  mickle  ado  ! 
Hey,  ca'  thro',  ca'  thro'. 
For  we  hae  mickle  ado  ! 


O,   CAN   YE   LABOUR   LEA. 

[An  old  song  preserved  in  "  The  Merry 
Muses,"  retouched  and  enlarged  by  Burns.] 

Chorus. 

O,  can  ye  labour  lea,  young  man, 

O,  can  ye  labour  lea  ? 
Gae  back  the  gate  ye  came  again — 

Ye  'se  never  scorn  me  ! 


I. 

I  fee'd  a  man  at  Martinmas 
Wi'  airle-pennies  three ; 

But  a'  the  faut  I  had  to  him 
He  couldna  labour  lea. 


II. 

O,  clappin  's  guid  in  Febarwar, 
An'  kissin  's  sweet  in  Mav ; 

But   what 
love. 
An  't  dinna  last  for  ay  ? 


signifies 


a   young    man's 


III. 

O,  kissin  is  the  key  o'  love 

An'  clappin  is  the  lock ; 
An'  makin  of 's  the  best  thing 

That  e'er  a  young  thing  got ! 

Chorus. 

O,  can  ye  labour  lea,  young  man, 

O,  can  ye  labour  lea  ? 
Gae  back  the  gate  ye  came  again - 

Ye  'se  never  scorn  me  ! 


274 


THE   DEIL'S  AWA   WI'   TH'   EXCISEMAN. 


THE   DEUK'S    DANG    O'ER  MY 
DADDIE. 

[Adapted  by  Burns  from  an  old  song.] 


The    bairns    gat   out    wi'   an    unco 
shout :  — 
'  The   deuk  's   dang  o'er  my   dad- 
die,  O  ! 
^  The  fien-ma-care,'   quo'   the   feirrie 
auld  wife, 
'  He  was  but  a  paidlin  body,  O  ! 
He  paidles  out,  and  he  paidles  in, 

An'  he  paidles  late  and  early,  O  ! 
This  seven  lang  years  I  hae  lien  by 
his  side. 
An'  he  is  but  a  fusionless  carlie,  O  ! ' 


II. 

*  O,  haud  your  tongue,  my  feirrie  auld 
wife, 
O,  haud   your   tongue,  now   Nan- 
sie,  O  ! 
I  've  seen  the  day,  and  sae  hae  ye, 

Ye  wad  na  been  sae  donsie,  O. 
I  've   seen    the    day   ye   butter'd    my 
brose. 
And  cuddl'd  me  late  and  early,  O ; 
But  downa-do  's  come  o'er  me  now. 
And  och,  I  find  it  sairly,  O  ! ' 


SHE'S    FAIR    AND   PAUSE. 

[The  general  allusion  is  to  the  girl  who 
jilted  Alexander  Cunningham.] 


She  's  fair  and  fause  that  causes  my 
smart ; 
I  lo'ed  her  meikle  and  lang ; 
She 's  broken  her  vow,  she 's  broken 
my  heart ; 
And  I  may  e'en  gae  hang, 
A  coof  cam  in  wi'  routh  o'  gear. 
And  I  hae  tint  my  dearest  dear ; 


But  Woman  is  but  warld's  gear, 
Sae  let  the  bonie  lass  gang  ! 

II. 

Whae'er  ye  be  that  Woman  love, 

To  this  be  never  blind  : 
Nae  ferhe  'tis,  tho'  fickle  she  prove, 

A  woman  has  't  by  kind. 
O  Woman  lovely.  Woman  fair. 
An  angel  form  's  faun  to  thy  share, 
'T  wad  been  o'er  meikle  to  gien  thee 
mair!  .  .   . 

I  mean  an  angel  mind. 


THE   DEIL'S   AWA   WP   TH' 
EXCISEMAN. 

[Burns  states  that  he  composed  and  sung 
this  song  at  an  Excise  dinner  in  Dumfries.] 

C horns. 

The  Deil  's  awa,  the  Deil  's  awa. 
The  Deil 's  awa  wi'  th'  Exciseman ! 

He  's  danc'd  awa,  he  's  danc'd  awa, 
He 's  danc'd  awa  wi'  th'  Exciseman ! 

I. 

The  Deil  cam  fiddlin  thro'  the  town, 
And  danc'd  awa  wi'  th'  Exciseman, 

And  ilka  wife  cries  :  — '  Auld  Mahoun, 
I  wish  you  luck  o'  the  prize,  man  ! 

II. 

'  We  '11  mak  our  maut,  and  we'll  brew 
our  drink. 
We'll    laugh,    sing,    and    rejoice, 
man. 
And  monie  braw  thanks  to  the  meikle 
black  Deil, 
That   danc'd   awa  wi'  th'   Excise- 


man 


III. 


There 's  threesome  reels,  there 's  four- 
some reels. 
There  's  hornpipes  and  strathspeys, 
man. 


AS  I   STOOD   BY   YON   ROOFLESS  TOWER. 


275 


But  the  ae  best  dance  ere  cam  to  the 
land 
Was  The  Deil  V  Aiva  wV  t/i'  Excise- 
mafi. 

Chorus. 

The  Deil 's  awa,  the  Deil 's  awa, 
The  Deil  Vs  awa  wi'  th'  Exciseman ! 

He  's  danc'd  awa,  he  's  dancM  awa, 
He 's  danc'd  awa  wi'   th'   Excise- 
man! 


THE   LOVELY   LASS  OF 
INVERiNESS. 

[The    song    commemorates    Culloden, 
April  16,  1746.] 

I. 

The  lovely  lass  of  Inverness, 

Nae  joy  nor  pleasure  can  she  see ; 

For  e''en  to  morn  she  cries  'Alas  !  ^ 
And   ay   the   saut   tear   blin's   her 
e'e :  — 

II. 

'  Drumossie  moor,  Dmmossie  day  — 
A  waefu'  day  it  was  to  me  ! 

For  there  I  lost  my  father  dear, 
My  father  dear  and  brethren  three. 


III. 

Their  winding-sheet  the  bluidy  clay. 
Their  graves  are  growin  green  to 
see, 

And  by  them  lies  the  dearest  lad 
That  ever  blest  a  woman's  e'e. 


IV. 

Now  wae  to  thee,  thou  cruel  lord, 

A  bluidy  man  I  trow  thou  be. 
For  monie  a  heart  thou  hast  made 
sair 
That  ne'er  did  wrang  to  thine  or 
thee  ! 


A   RED,   RED   ROSE. 

[Derived  by  Burns  from  old  blackletter 
ballads.] 

I. 

O,  MY  luve  is  like  a  red,  red  rose, 
That 's  newly  sprung  in  June. 

O,  my  luve  is  like  the  melodie. 
That 's  sweetly  play'd  in  tune. 


II. 

As  fair  art  thou,  my  bonie  lass. 

So  deep  in  luve  am  I, 
And  I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry. 

III. 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry,  my  dear, 
And  the  rocks  melt  wi'  the  sun!. 

And  1  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 
While  the  sands  o'  life  shall  run, 


IV. 

And  fare  thee  weel,  my  only  luve. 
And  fare  thee  weel  a  while  ! 

And  I  will  come  again,  my  luve, 
Tho'  it  were  ten  thousand  mile  ! 


AS  I  STOOD  BY  YON  ROOF- 
LESS TOWER. 

[The  "roofless  tower"  was  part  of  the 
ruins  of  Lincluden  Abbey,  situated  at  the 
junction  of  the  Cluden  with  the  Nith.] 

Chorus. 

A  lassie  all   alone  was  making   her 
moan. 
Lamenting    our   lads   beyond    the 
sea:  — 
'In  the  bluidy  wars  they  fa'  and  our 
honor  's  gane  an'  a'. 
And  broken-hearted  we  maun  die.' 


276 


O,   AN   YE   WERE   DEAD,   GUIDMAN. 


As  I  stood  by  yon  roofless  tower, 
Where    the   wa'flowY    scents    the 
dewy  air, 
Where  the  houlet  mourns  in  her  ivy 
bower, 
And  tells  the  midnight  moon  her 


care 


II. 


The  winds  were  laid,  the  air  was  still. 
The  stars  they  shot  along  the  sky, 

The  tod  was  howling  on  the  hill. 
And  the  distant-echoing  glens  reply. 


III. 

The  burn,  adown  its  hazelly  path. 
Was  rushing  by  the  ruined  wa'. 

Hasting  to  join  the  sweeping  Nith, 
Whase     roarings    seem'd    to    rise 
and  fa'. 

IV. 

The  cauld  blae  North  was  streaming 
forth 

Her  lights,  wi'  hissing,  eerie  din : 
Athort  the  lift  they  start  and  shift. 

Like  Fortune's  favours,  tint  as  win. 


V. 

Now,  looking  over  firth  and  fauld. 
Her  horn  the  pale-faced   Cynthia 
rear'd. 

When  low  !  in  form  of  minstrel  auld 
A  stern  and  stalwart  ghaist  appear'd. 

VI. 

And  frae  his  harp  sic  strains  did  flow. 
Might  rous'd  the  slumbering  Dead 
to  hear. 

But  O,  it  was  a  tale  of  woe 
As  ever  met  a  Briton's  ear  ! 

•  VII. 

He  sang  wi'  joy  his  former  day, 
He,  weeping,  waiPd  his  latter  times  : 

But  what  he  said  —  it  was  nae  play  !  — 
I  winna  ventur  't  in  my  rhymes. 


Chorus. 

A   lassie   all    alone   was  making  her 
moan. 
Lamenting    our   lads    beyond*  the 
sea :  — 
'  In  the  bluidy  wars  they  fa',  and  our 
honor's  gane  an'  a'. 
And  broken-hearted  we  maun  die. 


O,   AN   YE   WERE  DEAD, 
GUIDMAN. 

[Revised  and  shortened  from  an  old  set  in 
Herd.] 

Chorus, 

Sing,  round  about  the  fire  wi'  a  rung 

she  ran. 
An'  round  about  the  fire  wi'  a  rung 

she  ran  :  — 
'  Your  horns  shall  tie  you  to  the  staw, 
An'  I  shall  bang  your  hide,  guidman  ! ' 

I. 

0  AN  ye  were  dead,  guidman, 

A  green  turf  on  your  head,  guidman  ! 

1  wad  bestow  my  widowhood 
Upon  a  rantin  Highlandman  ! 

II. 
There 's  sax  eggs  in  the  pan,  guidman, 
There 's  sax  eggs  in  the  pan,  guidman  : 
There  's  ane  to  you,  and  twa  to  me. 
And  three  to  our  John  Highlandman  \ 

III. 

A  sheep-head's  in  the  pot,  guidman, 
A  sheep-head 's  in  the  pot,  guidman : 
The  flesh  to  him,  the  broo  to  me, 
An'   the   horns   become   your   brow, 
guidman  ! 

Chorus. 

Sing,  round  about  the  fire  wi'  a  rung 

she  ran. 
An'  round  about  the  fire  wi'  a  rung 

she  ran  :  — 
'  Your  horns  shall  tie  you  to  the  staw. 
An'  I  shall  bang  your  hide,  guidman  ! ' 


AULD   LANG   SYNE.  — HAD   I   THE   WYTE. 


277 


AULD   LANG   SYNE. 

[Sent  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  Dec.  17,  1788: 
"  Apropos,  is  not  the  Scotch  phrase  Auld 
Langsyne  exceedingly  expressive  ?  There 
is  an  old  song  and  tune  which  has  often 
thrilled  through  my  soul,"  etc. 

"  Burns  said  that  this  famous  lyric  was 
traditional.  The  chorus  '  lang  svne'  does 
occur  in  a  Jacobite  ditty,  attributed  to  '  a 
skulker  in  the  year  1746."  Why  Burns 
should  have  disclaimed  the  poem,  if  it  was 
his,  is  hard  to  conjecture."  —  ANDREW 
Lang.] 

Chorus. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear, 

For  auld  lang  syne, 
We  "11  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet 

For  auld  lang  syne  ! 

I. 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot. 
And  never  brought  to  mind? 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
And  auld  lang  syne. 

II. 

And  surely  ye  '11  be  your  pint-stowp, 

And  surely  I  '\\  be  mine, 
And  we  '11  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet 

For  auld  lang  syne  ! 

III. 

We  twa  hae  nm  about  the  braes, 
And  pou'd  the  gowans  fine. 

But  we  Ve  wander'd  monie  a  weary  fit 
Sin'  auld  lang  syne  ! 

IV. 

We  twa  hae  paidl'd  in  the  burn 
Frae  morning  sun  till  dine. 

But  seas  between  us  braid  hae  roar'd 
Sin'  auld  lang  syne. 


And  there 's  a  hand,  my  trusty  fiere, 
And  gie  's  a  hand  o'  thine, 


And   we'll   tak   a   right   guid-willie 
waught 
For  auld  lang  syne  ! 

Chorus. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear, 

For  auld  lang  syne, 
We  '11  take  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet 

For  auld  lang  syne  ! 


LOUIS,   WHAT    RECK    I    BY 
THEE. 

[Probably  made  soon  after  his  mar- 
riage, and  certainly  before  the  Revolution 
of  1795.] 

I. 

Louis,  what  reck  I  by  thee, 
Or  Geordie  on  his  ocean? 

Dyvor  beggar  louns  to  me  \ 
I  reign  in  Jeanie's  bosom. 

II. 

Let  her  crown  my  love  her  law, 
And  in  her  breast  enthrone  me, 

Kings  and  nations  —  swith  awa  ! 
Reif  randies,  I  disown  ye. 


HAD    I   THE   WYTE. 

[Burns's  original  was  certainly  a  frag- 
ment in  the  Herd  Ms.  The  inference  is 
irresistible  that  tiie  fragment  in  Herd  sug- 
gested two  songs  to  Burns,  —  one  for  publi- 
cation, and  the  other  not^ 

I. 

Had  I  the  wyte?  had  I  the  wyte.'* 

Had  I  the  wyte?  she  bade  me  ! 
She  watch'd  me  by  the  hie-gate  side, 

And  up  the  loan  she  shaw'd  me ; 
And  when  I  wadna  venture  in, 

A  coward  loon  she  ca'd  me  ! 
Had  Kirk  and  State  been  in  the  gate, 

I  'd  lighted  when  she  bade  me. 


278 


COMIN  THRO'  THE  RYE.  — YOUNG  JAMIE. 


II. 

Sae  craftilie  she  took  me  ben 

And  bade  me  mak  nae  clatter :  — 
*  For  our  ramgunshoch.  glum  guidman 

Is  o'er  ayont  the  water.'' 
Whae'er  shall  say  I  wanted  grace 

When  I  did  kiss  and  dawte  her, 
Let  him  be  planted  in  my  place, 

Syne  say  I  was  the  fautor ! 

III. 

Could  I  for  shame,  could  I  for  shame. 

Could  I  for  shame  refusM  her? 
And  wadna  manhood  been  to  blame 

Had  I  unkindly  used  her? 
He  claw'd  her  wi'  the  ripplin-kame, 

And  blae  and  bluidy  bruis'd  her  — 
When  sic  a  husband  was  frae  hame. 

What  wife  but  wad  excused  her  ! 

IV. 

I  dighted  ay  her  een  sae  blue, 

An'  bann'd  the  cruel  randy, 
And,  weel  I  wat,  her  willin  mou' 

Was  sweet  as  sugarcandie. 
At  gloamin-shot,  it  was,  I  wot, 

I  lighted  —  on  the  Monday, 
But  1  cam  thro'  the  Tyseday's  dew 

To  wanton  Willie's  brandy. 


COMIN    THRO'   THE   RYE. 

[This  is  an  old  song  dressed  up  a  little 
by  the  poet.] 

Chorus. 

O,  Jenny's  a'  weet,  poor  body, 

Jenny  's  seldom  dry  : 
She  draigl't  a'  her  petticoatie, 

Comin  thro'  the  rye  ! 


CoMiN  thro'  the  rye,  poor  body, 

Comin  thro'  the  rye, 
She  draigl't  a'  her  petticoatie, 

Comin  thro'  the  rye  ! 


II. 


Gin  a  body  meet  a  body 
Comin  thro'  the  rye. 

Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body, 
Need  a  body  cry  ? 


III. 


Gin  a  body  meet  a  body 
Comin  thro'  the  glen. 

Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body, 
Need  the  warld  ken? 


Chorus. 


O,  Jenny 's  a'  weet,  poor  body, 

Jenny 's  seldom  dry  : 
She  draigl't  a'  her  petticoatie, 

Comin  thro'  the  rye  ! 


YOUNG  JAMIE. 

["  Conceivably  an  appeal  to  the  offended 
Mrs.  Riddell."  —  ANDREW  LANG.] 


Young  Jamie,  pride  of  a'  the  plain, 
Sae  gallant  and  sae  gay  a  swain, 
Thro'  a'  our  lasses  he  did  rove, 
And  reign'd  resistless  King  of  Love. 


II. 

But  now,  wi'  sighs  and  starting  tears. 
He   stra3's    amang    the    woods    and 

breers ; 
Or  in  the  glens  and  rocky  caves 
His  sad  complaining  dowie  raves  :  — 

III. 

'■  I,  wha  sae  late  did  range  and  rove. 
And   chang'd   with   every   moon  my 

love  — 
I  little  thought  the  time  was  near. 
Repentance  I  should  buy  sae  dear. 


OUT  OVER   THE   FORTH. —CHARLIE   HE'S   MY   DARLING. 


279 


IV. 

*  The   slighted   maids    my    torments 

see. 
And  laugh  at  a'  the  pangs  I  dree  ; 
While  she,  my  cruel,  scornful  Fair, 
Forbids  me  e'er  to  see  her  mair.' 


OUT   OVER   THE    FORTH. 

["  How  do  you  like  this  thought  in  a 
ballad  which  I  have  just  now  on  the  tapis, 
'  I  look  to  the  west '  ?  "  (R.  B.  to  Alexan- 
der Cunningham,  March  12,  1791.)] 

I. 

Out  over  the  Forth,  I  look  to  the 
north  — 
But   what    is   the    north,   and    its 
Highlands  to  me  ? 
The  south  nor  the  east  gie  ease  to 
my  breast, 
The  far  foreign  land  or  the  wide 
rolling  sea ! 


II. 

But  I  look  to  the  west,  when  I  gae  to 
rest, 
That    happy   my  dreams    and    my 
slumbers  may  be ; 
For  far  in  the   west   lives   he  I   loe 
best, 
The  man  that  is  dear  to  my  babie 
and  me. 


WANTONNESS  FOR  EVER- 
MAIR. 

["The  triolet  is  not  uncommon  in  old 
Scots  verse,  and  '  Wantonness  for  Ever- 
mair,'  as  passed  through  Burns,  has  an  odd 
look  of  a  triolet  —  Once  upon  a  Time  — 
whicli  has  been  violently  carried  away  from 
the  grace  of  its  first  state  by  a  ravisher  who 
knew  nothing  of  the  form."] 

Wantonness  for  evermair, 
Wantonness  has  been  my  ruin. 


Yet  for  a'  my  dool  and  care 
It's  wantonness  for  evermair. 

I  hae  lo'ed  the  Black,  the  Brown ; 
I  hae  lo'ed  the  Fair,  the  Gowden  ! 

A'  the  colours  in  the  town  — 
I  hae  won  their  wanton  favour. 


CHARLIE   HE'S   MY  DARLING. 

[The  song  was  probably  suggested  by 
some  Jacobite  fragment.  There  is  another 
set  by  Lady  Nairne.] 

Chorus. 

An'  Charlie  he 's  my  darling, 
My  darling,  my  darling, 
Charlie  he's  my  darling  — 
The  Young  Chevalier  ! 

I. 

'T  WAS  on  a  Monday  morning 

Right  early  in  the  year. 
That  Charlie  came  to  our  town  — 

The  Young  Chevalier  ! 

II. 

As  he  was  walking  up  the  street 

The  city  for  to  view, 
O,  there  he  spied  a  bonie  lass 

The  window  looking  thro' ! 

III. 

Sae  light's  he  jumped  up  the  stair, 

And  tirl'd  at  the  pin  ; 
And  wha  sae  ready  as  hersel' 

To  let  the  laddie  in  \ 


IV. 

He  set  his  Jenny  on  his  knee. 
All  in  his  Highland  dress  ; 

For  brawlie  weel  he  kend  the  way 
To  please  a  bonie  lass. 


It 's  up  yon  heathery  mountain 
And  down  yon  scroggy  glen, 


28o    THE   LASS   O'   ECCLEFECH AN.  —  FOR  THE  SAKE   O'  SOMEBODY. 


We  daurna  gang  a-milking 
For  Charlie  and  his  men  ! 

Chorus. 

An'  Charlie  he 's  my  darling, 
My  darling,  my  darling, 
Charlie  he 's  my  darling  — 
The  young  Chevalier ! 


THE  LASS   O'  ECCLEFECHAN. 

[Burns,  in  the  course  of  his  "  duty  as 
supervisor,"  was  accustomed  to  "  visit  this 
unlortunate  wicked  little  village,"  and  slept 
in  it  on  Feb.  7,  1795  (R.  B.  to  Thomson), 
about  two  months  after  the  birth  of  Thomas 
Carlyle.  It  was  long  a  favorite  resort  of 
such  vagabonds  as  are  pictured  in  "  The 
Jolly  Beggars,"  which  may —  or  may  not  — 
account  in  soine  measure  for  Carlyle's  affec- 
tion for  that  admirable  piece.] 


'  Gat  ye  me,  O,  gat  ye  me, 

Gat  ye  me  wi'  naething  ? 
Rock  an'  reel,  an'  spinning  wheel, 

A  mickle  quarter  basin : 
Bye  attour,  my  gutcher  has 

A  heich  house  and  a  laich  ane, 
A'  forbye  my  bonie  sel, 

The  toss  o'  Ecclefechan  ! ' 

II. 

'O,  haud   your   tongue   now.  Lucky 
Lang, 

O,  haud  your  tongue  and  jauner  ! 
I  held  the  gate  till  you  I  met, 

Syne  I  began  to  wander : 
I  tint  my  whistle  and  my  sang, 

I  tint  my  peace  and  pleasure ; 
But    your  green    graff,    now    Lucky 
Lang, 

Wad  airt  me  to  my  treasure.' 


THE   COOPER   O'   CUDDY. 

[In  the  Ms.   (Hastie  Collection)   Burns 
directs  it  to  be  sung  to  the  tune,  "  Bab  at 


the  Bowster,"  which  he  states  "  is  to  be  met 
with  everywhere."] 

Chorus. 

We  '11   hide    the   cooper   behint   the 

door, 
Behint  the  door,  behint  the  door, 
We  '11    hide   the   cooper   behint    the 

door, 
And  cover  him  under  a  mawn,  O. 

I. 

The  Cooper  o'  Cuddy  came  here  awa. 
He  ca'd  the  girrs  out  o'er  us  a'. 
An'  our  guidwife  has  gotten  a  ca'. 
That  "s  anger'd  the  silly  guidman,  O. 

II. 

He  sought  them  out,  he  sought  them 

in, 
Wi'  '  Deil  hae  her!'  an'  'Deil   hae 

him  ! ' 
But  the  body  he  was  sae  doited  and 

blin', 
He  wist  na  where  he  was  gaun,  O. 

III. 

They  cooper'd  at  e'en,  they  cooper'd 

at  morn, 
Till    our    guidman    has    gotten   the 

scorn  : 
On  ilka  brow  she 's  planted  a  horn, 
And   swears   that  there   they   sail 

Stan',  O  ! 

Chorus. 

We  '11    hide   the   cooper  behint   the 

door, 
Behint  the  door,  behint  the  door. 
We  '11    hide   the   cooper   behint   the 

door 
And  cover  him  under  a  mawn,  O. 


FOR   THE    SAKE   O'   SOME- 
BODY. 

[It  is  evident  that  the  idea  of  this  charm- 
ing   lyric    came   to    Burns   through   Allan 


THE  CARDIN   OT.  — SAE  FLAXEN   WERE   HER    RINGLETS.      281 


Ramsay     and    "The 
lany."] 


Tea-Table     Miscel- 


I. 

Mv  lieart  is  sair  —  I  dare  na  tell — 
My  heart  is  sair  for  Somebody : 
I  could  wake  a  winter  night 
For  the  sake  o'  Somebody. 
0-hon  !  for  Somebody  ! 
0-hey  !  for  Somebody  ! 
I  could  range  the  world  around 
For  the  sake  o'  Somebody. 


II. 


Ye 


Powers    that   smile   on   virtuous 
love, 
O,  sweetly  smile  on  Somebody  I 
Frae  ilka  danger  keep  him  free, 
And  send  me  safe  my  Somebody  ! 
0-hon  !  for  Somebody  ! 
0-hey  !  for  Somebody  ! 
I  wad  do  —  what  w-ad  I  not  ?  — 
For  the  sake  o'  Somebody 


THE    CARDIN    O  T. 

[Suggested,  perhaps,  by  Alexander  Ross's 

There  was  a  wife  had  a  wee  pickle  tow, 
And  she  wad  gae  try  the  spinning  o  't."] 

Oionis. 

The  cardin  o  't,  the  spinnin  o  't, 
The  warpin  o  "t,  the  winnin  o  't ! 
When  ilka  ell  cost  me  a  groat, 
The  tailor  staw  the  lynin  o  't. 


1  COFT  a  stane  o'  haslock  woo, 
To  mak  a  wab  to  Johnie  o  ^t, 

For  Johnie  is  my  only  jo  — 
I  lo"e  him  best  of  onie  yet ! 

II. 

For  tho'  his  locks  be  lyart  gray, 
And  tho"  his  brow  be  beld  aboon, 

Yet  I  hae  seen  him  on  a  day 
The  pride  of  a^  the  parishen. 


Chorus. 

The  cardin  o  't,  the  spinnin  o't. 
The  warpin  o  "t,  the  winnin  o't ! 
When  ilka  ell  cost  me  a  groat, 
The  tailor  staw  the  lynin  o  't. 


THERE'S   THREE  TRUE  GUID 
FELLOWS. 

[The  stanza  following  the  chorus,  says 
Stenhouse,  was  "  hastily  penned  bv  Burns 
at  the  request  of  the  publisher"  (Johnson), 
to  enable  him  to  include  it.] 


There's  three  true  guid  fellows, 
There  's  three  true  guid  fellows. 
There  's  three  true  guid  fellows, 
Down  ayont  yon  glen  ! 

II. 

It 's  now  the  day  is  dawin. 
But  or  night  do  fa'  in, 
Whase  cock  's  best  at  crawin, 
Willie,  thou  sail  ken  ! 


SAE   FLAXEN    WERE   HER 
RINGLETS. 

["Do  you  know,  my  dear  sir,  a  black- 
guard Irish  song  called  '  Oonagh's  Water- 
fall '  ?  .  .  .  The  air  is  charming,  and  I 
have  often  regretted  the  want  of  decent 
verses  to  it.  It  is  too  much,  at  least  for  viy 
humble,  rustic  muse,  to  expect  that  every 
effort  of  hers  must  have  merit;  still  I  think 
that  it  is  better  to  have  mediocre  verses  to  a 
favorite  air,  than  none  at  all."  (R.  B.) 
The  heroine  was  Miss  Lorimer.] 


I. 

Sae  flaxen  were  her  ringlets. 
Her  eyebrows  of  a  darker  hue. 

Bewitch ingly  o'er-arching 

Tvva  laughing  een  o'  bonie  blue. 


282 


THE   LASS  THAT   MADE  THE   BED. 


Her  smiling,  sae  wyling, 

Wad  make  a  wretch  forget  his  woe  1 
What  pleasure,  what  treasure, 

Unto  those  rosy  lips  to  grow  ! 
Such  was  my  Chloris'  bonie  face, 

When  first  that  bonie  face  I  saw. 
And  ay  my  Chloris'  dearest  charm  — 

She  says  she  lo'es  me  best  of  a^ ! 


II. 

Like  harmony  her  motion, 

Her  pretty  ankle  is  a  spy 
Betraying  fair  proportion 

Wad  make  a  saint  forget  the  sky  ! 
Sae  warming,  sae  charming. 

Her  faultless  form  and  gracefu'  air. 
Ilk  feature  —  auld  Nature 

Declared   that  she    could   dae   nae 
mair ! 
Hers  are  the  willing  chains  o'  love 

By  conquering  beauty's  sovereign 
law, 
And  ay  my  Chloris'  dearest  charm  — 

She  says  she  lo'es  me  best  of  a'. 


III. 

Let  others  love  the  city. 

And  gaudy  show  at  sunny  noon  ! 
Gie  me  the  lonely  valley. 

The  dewy  eve,  and  rising  moon, 
Fair  beaming,  and  streaming 

Her  silver  light  the  boughs  amang. 
While  falling,  recalling, 

The  amorous  thrush  concludes  his 
sang  ! 
There,  dearest  Chloris,  wilt  thou  rove 

By  wimpling  burn  and  leafy  shaw. 
And  hear  my  vows  o'  truth  and  love. 

And  say  thou  lo"es  me  best  of  a'  ? 


THE  LASS  THAT  MADE  THE 
BED. 

[Composed   on   an   amour    of    Charles 
II.,    when   skulking    In   the    North    about 


Aberdeen   in  the  time  of   the   Common- 
wealth.] 

I. 

When  Januar'  wind  was  blawin  cauld, 

As  to  the  North  I  took  my  way. 
The  mirksome  night  did  me  enfauld, 

I  knew  na  where  to  lodge  till  day. 
By  my  guid  luck  a  maid  I  met 

Just  in  the  middle  o'  my  care. 
And  kindly  she  did  me  invite 

To  walk  into  a  chamber  fair. 


II. 

I  bow'd  fu'  low  unto  this  maid. 

And  thank'd  her  for  her  courtesie  ; 
I  bow'd  fu'  low  unto  this  maid, 

An'  bade  her  mak  a  bed  to  me. 
She  made  the  bed  baith  large  and 
wide, 
Wi'  twa  white  hands  she  spread  it 
down. 
She  put  the  cup  to  her  rosy  lips, 
And   drank:  —  'Young   man,  now 
sleep  ye  soun'.' 

III. 

She  snatch'd  the  candle  in  her  hand, 

And   frae    my   chamber    went  wi' 
speed. 
But  I  call'd  her  quickly  back  again 

To  lay  some  mair  below  my  head : 
A  cod  she  lay  below  my  head, 

And  served  me  with  due  respeck,  • 
And,  to  salute  her  wi'  a  kiss, 

I  put  my  arms  about  her  neck. 

IV. 

'  Hand  aff  your  hands,  young  man,' 
she  said, 

'And  dinna  sae  uncivil  be  ; 
Gif  ye  hae  onie  luve  for  me, 

O,  wrang  na  my  virginitie  !' 
Her  hair  was  like  the  links  o'  gowd, 

Her  teeth  were  like  the  ivorie. 
Her  cheeks  like  lilies  dipt  in  wine. 

The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me ! 


SAE   FAR   AWA.  — I'LL   AY   CA'    IN   BY   YON   TOWN. 


283 


V. 

Her  bosom  was  the  driven  snaw, 

Twa  drifted  heaps  sae  fair  to  see  ; 
Her  limbs  the  poHsh'd  marble  stane, 

The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me  ! 
I  kiss'd  her  o'er  and  o'er  again, 

And  ay  she  wist  na  what  to  say, 
I  laid  her  'tween  me  an  the  wa'  — 

The  lassie  thocht  na  lang  till  day. 


VI. 

Upon  the  morrow,  when  we  raise, 
I  thank'd  her  for  her  courtesie, 

But  ay  she  blush'd,  and  ay  she  sigh'd, 
And   said  :  — '  Alas,    ye  've    ruin'd 


me 


I ' 


I   clasp'd   her  waist,  and  kiss'd  her 
syne. 
While   the   tear  stood  twinklin  in 
her  e'e. 
I  said  :  — '  My  lassie,  dinna  cry. 
For  ye  ay  shall  mak  the  bed  to  me.' 

VII. 

She  took  her  mither's  holland  sheets. 

An'  made  them  a'  in  sarks  to  me. 
Blythe  and  merry  may  she  be, 

The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me  ! 
The  bonie  lass  made  the  bed  to  me, 

The  braw  lass  made  the  bed  to  me  ! 
I  '11  ne'er  forget  till  the  day  I  die. 

The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me. 


SAE   FAR  AWA. 

["Burns's  name  is  attached  to  this  pretty 
little  song,  which  would  seem  to  have  been 
composed  for  the  old  air  'O'er  the  Hills, 
and  Far  Awa ' ;  but  as  that  tune  had  already 
been  given  in  an  early  volume  of  the  '  Mu- 
seum,' set  to  its  well-known  Anglo-Scottish 
verses,  another  air  was  found  to  fit  the  poet's 
words."  —  William  Scott  Douglas.] 


O,  SAD  and  heavy  should  I  part 
But  for  her  sake  sae  far  awa, 


Unknowing     what     my     way     may 
thwart  — 
My  native  land  sae  far  awa. 

11. 

Thou  that  of  a'  things  Maker  art. 
That  formed  this  Fair  sae  far  awa, 

Gie  body  strength,  then  I  '11  ne'er  start 
At  this  my  way  sae  far  awa  ! 

III. 

How  true  is  love  to  pure  desert ! 

So  mine  in  her  sae  far  awa. 
And  nocht  can  heal  my  bosom's  smart, 

While,  O,  she  is  sae  far  awa  ! 

IV. 

Nane  other  love,  nane  other  dart 
I  feel,  but  hers  sae  far  awa  ; 

But  fairer  never  touched  a  heart. 
Than  hers,  the  Fair  sae  far  awa. 


THE   REEL   0'    STUMPIE. 

["  The  exact  share  of  Burns  in  this  song 
is  not  now  to  be  determined."] 


Wap  and  rowe,  wap  and  rowe, 
Wap  and  rowe  the  feetie  o  't ; 

I  thought  I  was  a  maiden  fair. 
Till  I  heard  the  greetie  o  't ! 

II. 

My  daddie  was  a  fiddler  fine. 
My  minnie  she  made  mantie,  O, 

And  I  myself  a  thumpin  quine. 

And  danc'd  the  Reel  o'  Stumpie,  O. 


I'LL   AY   CA'   IN   BY   YON 
TOWN. 

[Adapted  by  Burns  from  an  old  song.] 
Chorus, 

I  '11  ay  ca'  in  by  yon  town 

And  by  yon  garden  green  again ! 


284 


O,  WAT  YE  WHA'S   IN  YON  TOWN. 


I  '11  ay  ca'  in  by  yon  town, 

And  see  my  bonie  Jean  again. 


I. 


There  's  nane  shall  ken,  there 's  nane 
can  guess 

What  brings  me  back  the  gate  again, 
But  she,  my  fairest  faithfu'  lass. 

And  stow'nlins  we  sail  meet  again. 

II. 

She  'll  wander  by  the  aiken  tree, 

When  trystin  time  draws  near  again; 
And  when  her  lovely  form  I  see, 

0  haith  !  she  's  doubly  dear  again. 

Chorus. 

1  '11  ay  ca'  in  by  yon  town 

And  by  yon  garden  green  again  ! 
I  '11  ay  ca'  in  by  yon  town. 

And  see  my  bonie  Jean  again. 


O,   WAT    YE   WHA'S    IN   YON 
TOWN. 

[Begun  at  Ecclefechan,  where  Burns  was 
storm-stayed,  Feb.  7,  1795.  Some  time 
afterwards  Burns  produced  a  complete 
copy,  at  Brechin  Castle.  In  the  set  sent  to 
Johnson,  Jeanie  —  either  Jean  Armour  or 
Jean  Lorimer  —  is  the  heroine.  In  that 
sent  to  Thomson  the  name  is  Lucy,  who 
was  the  wife  of  Mr.  Richard  Oswald.] 

Chorus. 

O,  wat  ye  wha  's  in  yon  town 
Ye  see  the  e'enin  sun  upon  ? 

The  dearest  maid 's  in  yon  town 
That  e'enin  sun  is  shining  on ! 

I. 

Now  haply  down  yon  gay  green  shaw 
She  wanders  by  yon  spreading  tree. 

How  blest  ye  flowers  that  round  her 
blaw  ! 
Ye  catch  the  glances  o'  her  e'e. 


II. 


How  blest  ye  birds  that  round  her  sing, 
And  welcome  in  the  blooming  year  ! 

And  doubly  welcome  be  the  Spring, 
The  season  to  my  Jeanie  dear  ! 


III. 


The  sun  blinks  blythe  in  yon  town, 
Among  the  broomy  braes  sae  green ; 

But  my  delight  in  yon  town, 

And  dearest  pleasure,  is  my  Jean. 


IV. 


Without  my  Love,  not  a'  the  charms 
O'  Paradise  could  yield  me  joy ; 

But  gie  me  Jeanie  in  my  arms, 
And  welcome  Lapland's  dreary  sky  ! 


V. 


My  cave  wad  be  a  lover's  bower, 
Tho'  raging  Winter  rent  the  air, 

And  she  a  lovely  httle  flower, 

That  I  wad  tent  and  shelter  there. 


VI. 


O,  sweet  is  she  in  yon  town 

The  sinkin  sun 's  gane  down  upon  \ 
A  fairer  than  's  in  yon  town 

His  setting  beam  ne'er  shone  upon. 


VII. 

If  angry  Fate  be  sworn  my  foe. 
And  suff  Ying  I  am  doom'd  to  bear, 

I  'd  careless  quit  aught  else  below, 
But    spare,   O,    spare    me    Jeanie 
dear ! 

VIII. 

For,    while    life's    dearest    blood    is 
warm, 
Ae    thought    frae   her   shall   ne'er 
depart. 
And  she,  as  fairest  is  her  form. 
She  has  the  truest,  kindest  heart. 


WHEREFORE   SIGHING   ART  THOU?  — HIGHLAND    LADDIE.      285 


Chorus. 

O,  wat  ye  wha  's  in  yon  town 
Ye  see  the  e'enin  sun  upon? 

The  clearest  maid  's  in  yon  town 
That  e"enin  sun  is  shining  on. 


WHEREFORE    SIGHING   ART 
THOU,   PHILLIS  ? 

[Suggested,  probably,  by  an  old  English 
song  beginning : 

"  Do  not  ask  me,  charming  Phillis."] 


Wherefore  sighing  art  thou,  Phillis  ? 

Has  thy  prime  unheeded  past? 
Hast  thou  found  that  beauty's  lilies 

Were  not  made  for  ay  to  last  ? 

II. 

Know,  thy  form  was  once  a  treasure  — 
Then  it  was  thy  hour  of  scorn  ! 

Since  thou  then  denied  the  pleasure, 
Now  't  is    fit   that   thou   should'st 
mourn. 


O   MAY,   THY   MORN. 

[Supposed  to  commemorate  the  parting 
with  Clarinda.] 


O  May,  thy  morn  was  ne'er  sae  sweet 
As  the  mirk  night  o'  December  ! 

For  sparkling  was  the  rosy  wine. 
And  private  was  the  chamber, 

And  dear  was  she  I  dare  na  name, 
But  I  will  ay  remernber. 

II. 

And  here's  to  them  that,  like  oursel, 
Can  push  about  the  jorum  ! 

And   here 's   to   them   that   wish   us 
weel  — 
May  a'  that 's  guid  watch  o'er  'em  ! 


And  here  's  to  them  we  dare  na  tell, 
The  dearest  o'  the  quorum  ! 


AS   I   CAME   O'ER   THE   CAIR- 
NEY    MOUNT. 

[Probably    suggested    by    old    Jacobite 
ballads,  "  Highland  Laddie,"  etc.] 

Chorus. 

O,  my  bonie  Highland  lad  ! 

My  winsome,  weel-faur'd  Highland 
laddie  ! 
Wha  wad  mind  the  wind  and  rain 

Sae  weel  row'd  in  his  tartan  plaidie  ! 


As  I  came  o'er  the  Cairney  mount 
And   down   among    the   blooming 
heather, 

Kindly  stood  the  milking-shiel 

To  shelter  frae  the  stormy  weather. 

II. 

Now  Phoebus  blinkit  on  the  bent. 

And    o'er   the    knowes    the   lambs 
were  bleating ; 
But  he  wan  my  heart's  consent 

To  be  his  ain  at  the  neist  meeting. 

Chorus. 

O,  my  bonie  Highland  lad  ! 

My  winsome,  weel-faur'd  Highland 
laddie  ! 
Wha  wad  mind  the  wind  and  rain 

Sae  weel  row'd  in  his  tartan  plaidie  ! 


HIGHLAND    LADDIE. 

[Chiefly  an  abridgment  of  the  Jacobite 
ditty,  "The  Highland  Lad  and  the  High- 
land Lass."] 


The  bonniest  lad  that  e'er  I  saw  — 
Bonie  laddie.  Highland  laddie  ! 


286     WILT  THOU   BE   MY   DEARIE?  — LOVELY    POLLY   STEWART. 


Wore  a  plaid  and  was  fu'  braw  — 

Bonie  Highland  laddie  ! 
On  his  head  a  bonnet  blue  ^- 

Bonie  laddie,  Highland  laddie  ! 
His  royal  heart  was  firm  and  true  — 
Bonie  Highland  laddie .' 


II. 

'  Trumpets  sound  and  cannons  roar, 

Bonie  lassie,  Lawland  lassie  !  — 
And  a^  the  hills  wi'  echoes  roar, 

Bonie  Lawland  lassie  ! 
Glory,  Honour,  now  invite  — 

Bonie  lassie,  Lawland  lassie  !  — 
For  freedom  and  my  King  to  fight, 
Bonie  Lawland  lassie  ! ' 


in. 

*The  sun   a  backward   course   shall 
take, 
Bonie  laddie,  Highland  laddie  ! 
Ere  aught  thy  manly  courage  shake, 

Bonie  Highland  laddie  ! 
Go,  for  yourseP  procure  renown, 
Bonie  laddie,  Highland  laddie. 
And  for  your  lawful  King  his  crown, 
Bonie  Highland  laddie  ! ' 


WILT  THOU  BE  MY  DEARIE  ? 

[Evidently  made  in  honor  of  Miss  Janet 
Miller  of  Dalswinton.] 


I. 

Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie  ? 
When    Sorrow    wrings     thy    gentle 
heart, 

O,  wilt  thou  let  me  cheer  thee  ? 
By  the  treasure  of  my  soul  — 

That 's  the  love  I  bear  thee  — 
I  swear  and  vow  that  only  thou 

Shall  ever  be  my  dearie  ! 
Only  thou,  I  swear  and  vow. 

Shall  ever  be  my  dearie  ! 


II. 

Lassie,  say  thou  lo'es  me, 
Or,  if  thou  wilt  na  be  my  ain. 

Say  na  thou  'It  refuse  me  ! 
If  it  winna,  canna  be, 

Thou  for  thine  may  choose  me, 
Let  me,  lassie,  quickly  die. 

Trusting  that  thou  lo'es  me  ! 
Lassie,  let  me  quickly  die, 

Trusting  that  thou  lo'es  me  ! 


LOVELY   POLLY  STEWART. 

[Polly  or  Mary  Stewart  was  daughter 
of  William  Stewart,  factor  at  Closeburn. 
She  died  in  Italy  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
two.] 

Chorus. 

O  lovely  Polly  Stewart, 
O  charming  Polly  Stewart, 
There  's  ne'er  a  flower  that  blooms  in 
May, 
That 's  half  so  fair  as  thou  art  ! 


The  flower  it  blaws,  it  fades,  it  fa's. 
And  art  can  ne'er  renew  it ; 

But  Worth  and  Truth  eternal  youth 
Will  gie  to  Polly  Stewart ! 


II. 

May  he  whase  arms  shall  fauld  thy 
charms 

Possess  a  leal  and  true  heart ! 
To  him  be  given  to  ken  the  heaven 

He  grasps  in  Polly  Stewart  ! 


Chorus. 

O  lovely  Polly  Stewart, 
O  charming  Polly  Stewart, 
There 's  ne'er  a  flower  that  blooms  in 
May, 
That 's  half  so  fair  as  thou  art ! 


THE   HIGHLAND   BALOU.  —  WAE  IS   MY   HEART. 


287 


THE    HIGHLAND    BALOU. 

[Stenhouse  states  that  it  is  "  a  versifica- 
tion by  Burns  of  a  Gaelic  nursery  song,  the 
Hteral  import  of  which,  as  well  as  the  air, 
were  communicated  to  him  by  a  Highland 
lady."] 

I. 

Hee  balou,  my  sweet  wee  Donald, 
Picture  o'  the  great  Clanronald  ! 
Brawlie  kens  our  wanton  Ghief 
Wha  gat  my  young  Highland  thief. 

II. 

Leeze  me  on  thy  bonie  craigie  ! 
An  thou  live,  thou  '11  steal  a  naigie, 
Travel  the  country  thro'  and  thro', 
And  bring  hame  a  Carlisle  cow  ! 

III. 

Thro'  the  Lawlands,  o'er  the  Border, 
Weel,  my  babie,  may  thou  furder, 
Herry  the  louns  o'  the  laigh  Coun- 

trie. 
Syne  to  the  Highlands  hame  to  me  ! 


BANNOCKS  O'   BEAR   MEAL. 

[No  doubt  suggested  by  a  song  on  the 
Duke  of  Argyll  (the  great  Duke,  born  1678, 
died  1743),  entitled,  "The  Highlandman 
Speaking  of  His  Maggy  and  the  Bannocks 
of  Barley  Meal."] 

Chorus. 

Bannocks  o''  bear  meal, 

Bannocks  o'  barley, 
Here 's  to  the  Highlandman's 

Bannocks  o'  barley  ! 


I. 

Wha  in  a  brulyie 

Will  first  cry  '  a  parley '  ? 
Never  the  lads 

Wi'  the  bannocks  o'  barley  ! 


II. 

Wha.  in  his  wae  days. 
Were  loyal  to  Charlie  ? 

Wha  but  the  lads 

Wi'  the  bannocks  o'  barley  ! 

Chorus. 

Bannocks  o'  bear  meal, 
Bannocks  o'  barley, 

Here 's  to  the  Highlandman's 
Bannocks  o'  barley  ! 


WAE   IS  MY  HEART. 

[The  last  stanza  is  closely  imitated  from 
the  last  of  Lady  Grizzel  Bailie's  "  Were  Na 
My  Heart  Licht  I  Wad  Die."] 


Wae  is  my  heart,  and  the  tear's  in 

my  e'e ; 
Lang,   lang    joy's    been   a   stranger 

to  me  : 
Forsaken  and  friendless  my  burden 

I  bear, 
And   the   sweet   voice  o'   pity   ne'er 

sounds  in  my  ear. 

II. 

Love,  thou  hast  pleasures  —  and  deep 

hae  I  lov'd  ! 
Love,  thou  has  sorrows  —  and  sair  hae 

I  prov'd  ! 
But  this  bruised  heart  that  now  bleeds 

in  my  breast, 
I  can  feel  by  its  throbbings,  will  soon 

be  at  rest. 

III. 

O.  if  I  were  where  happy  I  hae  been, 
Down  by  yon  stream  and  yon  bonie 

castle  green  ! 
For  there  he  is  wand'ring  and  musing 

on  me, 
Wha  wad  soon  dry  the  tear  frae  his 

PhiUis'  e'e  ! 


288 


THERE  GROWS  A   BONIE   BRIER-BUSH. 


HERE'S    HIS   HEALTH   IN 
WATER. 

[Framed  on  a  Jacobite  song  for  James 
VIII.  (the  "  Old  Pretender  "  ).] 

I. 

Altho'  my  back  be  at  the  wa', 

And  tho'  he  be  the  fautor, 
Altho'  my  back  be  at  the  wa', 

Yet  here  's  his  heahh  in  water  ! 
O,  wae  gae  by  his  wanton  sides, 

Sae  brawly  's  he  could  flatter  ! 
Till  for  his  sake  I  'm  slighted  sair 

And  dree  the  kintra  clatter ! 
But,  tho'  my  back  be  at  the  wa'. 

Yet  here 's  his  health  in  water  ! 


laughing 


THE  WINTER   OF   LIFE. 

[Doubtless  suggested  by  a  song  of  the 
same  title  to  be  found  in  "  The  Goldfinch," 
Edinburgh,  1777.] 

I. 

But  lately  seen  in  gladsome  green, 

The  woods  rejoiced  the  day ; 
Thro'   gentle   showers   the 
flowers  • 

In  double  pride  were  gay ; 
But  now  our  joys  are  fled 

On  winter  blasts  awa, 
Yet  maiden  May  in  rich  array 

Again  shall  bring  them  a'. 


II. 

But  my  white  pow —  nae  kindly  thowe 

Shall  melt  the  snaws  of  Age  ! 
My  trunk  of  eild,  but  buss  and  bield, 

Sinks  in  Time's  wintry  rage. 
O,  Age  has  weary  days 

And  nights  o'  sleepless  pain  ! 
Thou  golden  time  o'  youth fu'  prime, 

Why  comes  thou  not  again  ? 


THE   TAILOR. 

[Suggested  probably  by  "  The  Tailor"  in 
Herd's  Collection.] 


The  tailor  he  cam  here  to  sew, 
And  weel  he  kend  the  way  to  woo. 
For  ay  he  pree'd  the  lassie's  mou', 
As  he  gaed  but  and  ben,  O. 
For  weel  he  kend  the  way,  O, 
The  way,  O,  the  way,  O ! 
For  weel  he  kend  the  way,  O, 
The  lassie's  heart  to  win,  O  ! 

11. 

The  tailor  rase  and  shook  his  duds, 
The  flaes  they  flew  awa  in  cluds  ! 
And    them    that    stay'd    gat    fearfu' 
thuds  — 
The  Tailor  prov'd  a  man,  O  ! 
For  now  it  was  the  gloamin. 
The  gloamin,  the  gloamin  ! 
For  now  it  was  the  gfloamin. 


When  a'  the  rest  are  gaun. 


O! 


THERE   GROWS   A   BONIE 
BRIER-BUSH. 

[Stenhouse  states,  that  "  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  few  lines,  which  are  old,"  this 
song  was  written  by  Burns  for  Johnson's 
"  Museum.'*] 


There  grows  a  bonie  brier-bush  in 

our  kail-yard, 
There   grows   a   bonie  brier-bush  in 

our  kail-yard ; 
And    below    the     bonie     brier-bush 

there 's  a  lassie  and  a  lad. 
And  they  're  busy,  busy  courting  in 

our  kail-yard. 

II. 

We  '11  court  nae  mair  below  the  buss 
in  our  kail-yard, 


IT   WAS   A'   FOR   OUR   RIGHTFU'   KING. 


289 


We  '11  court  nae  mair  below  the  buss 

in  our  kail -yard  : 
We  '11   awa   to   Athole's   green,   and 

there  we  '11  no  be  seen, 
Where  the  trees  and  the  branches  will 

be  our  safeguard. 

III. 

W^ill  ye  go  to  the  dancin  in  Carlyle's 

ha'? 
Will  ye  go  to  the  dancin  in  Carlyle's 

ha'. 
Where   Sandy  and  Nancy  I  'm  sure 

will  ding  them  a'? 
I  winna  gang  to  the  dance  in  Carlyle- 

ha'! 

IV. 

What  will  I  do  for  a  lad  when  Sandie 

gangs  awa ! 
What  will  I  do  for  a  lad  when  Sandie 

gangs  awa ! 
I  will  awa  to  Edinburgh,  and  win  a 

pennie  fee. 
And  see  an  onie  lad  will  fancy  me. 

V. 

He  's  comin  frae  the  north  that 's  to 

marry  me, 
He's  comin  frae  the  north  that's  to 

marry  me, 
A  feather  in  his  bonnet  and  a  ribbon 

at  his  knee  — 
He  's  a  bonie,  bonie  laddie,  an  yon 

be  he ! 


HERE'S   TO   THY   HEALTH. 

[Regarded  as  traditional  b}--  Mrs.  Begg 
(Burns's  sister) .  Mr.  Scott  Douglas  accepts 
it  as  a  genuine  contribution  to  Johnson's 
"  Museum,"  and  internal  evidence  is  in  his 
favor.] 


Here  's  to  thy  health  my  bonie  lass  ! 

Guid  night  and  joy  be  wi'  thee  ! 
I  '11  come  nae  mair  to  thy  bower-door 

To  tell  thee  that  I  lo'e  thee  : 


O,  dinna  think,  my  pretty  pink. 
But  I  can  live  without  thee : 

I  vow  and  swear  I  dinna  care 
How  lang  ye  look  about  ye  ! 

II. 

Thou  'rt  ay  sae  free  informing  me 

Thou  hast  nae  mind  to  marry, 
I  '11  be  as  free  informing  thee 

Nae  time  hae  I  to  tarry. 
I  ken  thy  freens  try  ilka  means 

Frae  wedlock  to  delay  thee 
(Depending  on  some  higher  chance), 

But  fortune  may  betray  thee. 

III. 

I  ken  they  scorn  my  low  estate. 

But  that  does  never  grieve  me. 
For  I  "m  as  free  as  any  he  — 

Sma'  siller  will  relieve  me  ! 
I  '11  count  my  health  my  greatest  wealth 

Sae  lang  as  I  '11  enjoy  it. 
I  '11  fear  nae  scant,  I  'II  bode  nae  want 

As  lang's  I  get  employment. 

IV. 

But  far  off  fow'ls  hae  feathers  fair. 

And,  ay  until  ye  try  them, 
Tho'  they  seem  fair,  still  have  a  care  — 

They  may  prove  as  bad  as  I  am  ! 
But  at  twel  at  night,  when  the  moon 
shines  bright. 

My  dear,  I  '11  come  and  see  thee. 
For  the  man  that  loves  his  mistress 
weel, 

Nae  travel  makes  him  weary. 


IT   WAS   A'  FOR   OUR  RIGHT- 
FU'  KING. 

["  The  third  verse  of  this  beautiful  song 
is  found  in  a  stall-ballad  (Mally  Stewart), 
but  the  date  of  the  ballad  is  not  ascertained." 
—  Andrew  Lang.] 


It  w-as  a'  for  our  rightfu'  king 
We  left  fair  Scotland's  strand ; 


290 


THE   HIGHLAND    WIDOW'S  LAMENT. 


It  was  a'  for  our  rightfu'  king, 
We  e'er  saw  Irish  land. 
My  dear  — 
We  e'er  saw  Irish  land. 

II. 

Now  a'  is  done  that  men  can  do, 

And  a'  is  done  in  vain, 
My  Love  and  Native  Land  fareweel. 

For  I  maun  cross  the  main. 
My  dear — 

For  I  maun  cross  the  main. 

III. 

He  turned  him  right  and  round  about 

Upon  the  Irish  shore, 
And  gae  his  bridle  reins  a  shake, 

With  adieu  for  evermore, 
My  dear  — 

And  adieu  for  evermore  ! 

IV. 

The  soger  frae  the  wars  returns, 

The  sailor  frae  the  main, 
But  I  hae  parted  frae  my  love 

Never  to  meet  again, 
My  dear  — 

Never  to  meet  again. 


When  day  is  gane,  and  night  is  come, 
And  a'  folk  bound  to  sleep, 

I  think  on  him  that 's  far  awa 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep. 

My  dear  — 
The  lee-lang  night  and  weep. 


THE  HIGHLAND  WIDOW'S 
LAMENT. 

[Burns  supplied  the  music  for  Johnson's 
"  Museum,"  which  he  got  from  a  lady  in  the 
north  of  Scotland.  The  refrain  is  borrowed 
from  an  old  song,  said  to  have  been  a 
lament  for  Glencoe.J 


O,  I  AM  come  to  the  low  countrie 
Ochon,  ochon,  ochrie  !  — 


Without  a  penny  in  my  purse 
To  buy  a  meal  to  me. 


II. 


It  was  na  sae  in  the  Highland  hills 
Ochon,  ochon,  ochrie  !  — 

Nae  woman  in  the  country  wide 
Sae  happy  was  as  me. 


III. 


For  then  I  had  a  score  o'  kye  — 
Ochon,  ochon,  ochrie  !  — 

Feeding  on  yon  hill  sae  high 
And  giving  milk  to  me. 


IV. 


And  there  I  had  three  score  o'  yowes  • 
Ochon,  ochon,  ochrie  !  — 

Skipping  on  yon  bonie  knowes 
And  casting  woo'  to  me. 


I  was  the  happiest  of  a'  the  clan  — 
Sair,  sair  may  I  repine  !  — 

For  Donald  was  the  brawest  man, 
And  Donald  he  was  mine. 

VI. 

Till  Charlie  Stewart  cam  at  last 

Sae  far  to  set  us  free  : 
My  Donald's  arm  was  wanted  then 

For  Scotland  and  for  me. 

VII. 

Their  waefu'  fate  what  need  I  tell? 

Right  to  the  wrang  did  yield : 
My  Donald  and  his  country  fell 

Upon  Culloden  field. 

VIII. 

Ochon  !  O  Donald,  O  ! 

Ochon,  ochon,  ochrie  ! 
Nae  woman  in  tlie  warld  wide 

Sae  wretched  now  as  me  ! 


THOU  GLOOMY  DECEMBER.  — O,  STEER  HER  UP. 


291 


THOU   GLOOMY   DECEMBER. 

[The  first  two  stanzas  were  sent  to  Cla- 
rinda  on  Dec.  27,  1791,  as  a  song  to  "  a 
charming  plaintive  Scots  tune."] 


I. 

Ance  mair  I  hail  thee,  thou  gloomy 
December  ! 
Ance  mair  I  hail  thee  wi^  sorrow 
and  care ! 
Sad  was  the  parting  thou  makes  me 
remember : 
Parting  wi'  Nancy,  O,  ne'er  to  meet 
mair ! 


n. 

Fond  lovers'  parting  is  sweet,  painful 
pleasure, 
Hope    beaming   mild   on   the   soft 
parting  hour ; 
But  the  dire  feeling,  O  farewell  for 
ever  ! 
Angviish    unmingled    and     agony 
pure  ! 


III. 

Wild  as  the  winter  now  tearing  the 
forest, 
Till  the  last  leaf  o'  the  summer  is 
flown  — 
Such  is  the  tempest  has  shaken  my 
bosom, 
Till  my  last  hope  and  last  comfort 
is  2:one ! 


IV. 

Still    as   I    hail   thee,   thou    gloomy 
December, 
Still  shall  I  hail  thee  wi'  sorrow  and 
care  ; 
For  sad  was  the  parting  thou  makes 
me  remember : 
Parting  wi'  Nancy,  O,  ne'er  to  meet 
mair  ! 


MY    PEGGY'S    FACE,   MY 
PEGGY'S   FORxM. 

["  Written  for  Miss  Margaret  Chalmers. 
Both  she  and  Miss  Hamilton  were  probably 
friends  rather  than  '  flames  '  of  Burns."  — 
Andrew  Lang.J 


My  Peggy's  face,  my  Peggy's  form 
The  frost  of  hermit  Age  might  warm. 
My  Peggy's  worth,  my  Peggy's  mind 
Might  charm  the  first  of  human  kind. 

II. 

I  love  my  Peggy's  angel  air, 
Her  face  so  truly  heavenly  fair, 
Her  native  grace  so  void  of  art  ; 
But  I  adore  my  Peggy's  heart. 

III. 

The  lily's  hue,  the  rose's  dye, 
The  kindling  lustre  of  an  eye  — 
Who  but  owns  their  magic  sway? 
Who  but  knows  they  all  decay? 


rv. 

The  tender  thrill,  the  pitying  tear, 
The  generous  purpose  nobly  dear. 
The  gentle  look  that  rage  disarms  — 
These  are  all  immortal  charms. 


O,  STEER   HER  UP,  AN'  HAUD 
HER   GAUN. 

[Written  for  Johnson's  "  Museum  "  by 
Burns.  The  first  half  stanza  is  Ramsay's, 
from  a  set  founded  on  an  old  improper 
ditty.] 


O,  STEER  her  up,  an'  haud  hergaun- 
Her  mither  's  at  the  mill,  jo, 

An'  gin  she  winna  tak  a  man. 
E'en  let  her  tak  her  will,  jo. 


292 


WEE  WILLIE  GRAY.  — WE'RE  A'   NODDIN. 


First  shore  her  wV  a  gentle  kiss, 

And  ca'  anither  gill,  jo. 
An'  gin  she  tak  the  thing  amiss, 

E'en  let  her  flyte  her  fill,  jo. 

II. 

O,  steer  her  up,  an'  be  na  blate, 

An'  gin  she  tak  it  ill,  jo. 
Then  leave  the  lassie  till  her  fate, 

And  time  nae  langer  spill,  jo  ! 
Ne'er  break  your  heart  for  ae  rebute, 

But  think  upon  it  still,  jo, 
That  gin  the  lassie  winna  do  't. 

Ye  '11  fin'  anither  will,  jo. 


WEE   WILLIE   GRAY. 

["  A  child's  song,  with  an  appearance  of 
popular  antiquity."  —  ANDREW  Lang.] 


Wee  Willie    Gray   an'    his    leather 

wallet, 
Peel  a  willow-wand  to  be  him  boots 

and  jacket ! 
The  rose  upon  the  brier  will  be  him 

trouse  and  doublet  — 
The  rose  upon  the  brier  will  be  him 

trouse  and  doublet ! 

II. 

Wee  Willie  Gray  and  his  leather  wal- 
let. 

Twice  a  lily-flower  will  be  him  sark 
and  gravat ! 

t  eathers  of  a  flie  wad  feather  up  his 
bonnet  — 

Feathers  of  a  flie  wad  feather  up  his 
bonnet ! 


WE'RE   A'  NODDIN. 

[This  ditty  is  a  medley  of  two  old  songs 
with  variations  and  amendments.] 

Ckorus. 

We  're  a'  noddin, 
Nid  nid  noddin. 


We  're  a'  noddin 

At  our  house  at  hame ! 


'GuiD  e'en  to  you,  kimmer, 
And  how  do  ye  do?' 

*  Hiccup  ! '  quo'  kimmer, 
'  The  better  that  I  'm  fou  ! 


II. 

Kate  sits  i'  the  neuk, 

Suppin  hen-broo. 
Deil  tak  Kate 

An  she  be  na  noddin  too  ! 

III. 

*  How 's  a'  wi'  you,  kimmer  ? 

And  how  do  you  fare  ? ' 
^A  pint  o'  the  best  o't. 
And  twa  pints  mair ! ' 

IV. 

'  How 's  a'  wi'  you,  kimmer  ? 

And  how  do  ye  thrive  ? 
How  monie  bairns  hae  ye  ? ' 

Quo'  kimmer,  '  I  hae  five.' 

V. 

*  Are  they  a'  Johnie's  ? ' 

'  Eh  !  atweel  na : 
Twa  o'  them  were  gotten 
When  Johnie  was  awa  ! ' 

VI. 

Cats  like  milk. 

And  dogs  like  broo ; 
Lads  like  lasses  weel. 

And  lasses  lads  too. 


Chorus. 

We  're  a'  noddin, 
Nid  nid  noddin. 
We  're  a'  noddin 
At  our  house  at  hame  ! 


O,  AY  MY  WIFE  SHE  DANG   ME.  — O,  GUID  ALE  COMES.      293 


O,   AY    MY  WIFE    SHE    DANG 
ME. 

[Written  for  Johnson's  "  Museum  "  to  a 
tune  in  Oswald's  collection,  "  My  Wife  She 
Dang  Me."j 

Chorus. 

O,  ay  my  wife  she  dang  me, 
An^  aft  my  wife  she  bang'd  me  ! 
If  ye  gie  a  woman  a'  lier  will, 
Guid  faith !  she  '11  soon  o'er-gang  ye. 


On  peace  an'  rest  my  mind  was  bent, 
And,  fool  I  was  !  I  married ; 

But  never  honest  man's  intent 
Sae  cursedly  miscarried. 

11. 

Some  sairie  comfort  at  the  last, 
When  a'  thir  days  are  done,  man : 

My  '  pains  o'  hell '  on  earth  is  past, 
I  'm  sure  0'  bliss  aboon,  man. 


Chorus. 

O,  ay  my  wife  she  dang  me, 
An'  aft  my  wife  she  bang'd  me  ! 
If  ye  gie  a  woman  a'  her  will, 
Guid  faith !  she  '11  soon  o'ergang  ye. 


SCROGGAM. 

[Founded  on  an  older  ditty,  or  perhaps 
gathered  from  more  than  one.] 

I. 

There  was  a  wife  wonn'd  in  Cockpen, 

Scroggam  ! 
She  brew'd  guid  ale  for  gentlemen  : 
Sing   Auld   Cowd,  lay  you   down  by 

me  — 
Scroggam,  my  dearie,  ruffum  ! 


II. 


The  guidwife's  dochter  fell  in  a  fever, 


Scroggam  ! 


The  priest  o'  the  parish  fell  in  anither : 
Sing  Auld  Cowl,  lay  you  down  by  me  — 
Scroggam,  my  dearie,  ruffum  ! 


III. 


They  laid  the  twa  i'  the  bed  thegither. 


Scroggam  ! 


That  the  heat  o'  the  tane  might  cool 

the  tither : 
Sing  Auld  Cowl,  lay  you  down  by  me — 
Scroggam,  my  dearie,  ruffum  ! 


O,  GUID  ALE   COMES. 

[Partly  traditional,    Stenhouse  states  that 
only  the  chorus  is  old.] 

Chorus. 

O,  guid  ale  comes,  and  guid  ale  goes, 
Guid  ale  gars  me  sell  my  hose, 
Sell  my  hose,  and  pawn  my  shoon  — 
Guid  ale  keeps  my  heart  aboon  ! 


I  HAD  sax  owsen  in  a  pleugh. 
And  they  drew  a'  weel  eneugh  : 
I  sell'd  them  a'  just  ane  by  ane  — 
Guid  ale  keeps  the  heart  aboon  ! 


II. 

Guid  ale  hands  me  bare  and  busy. 
Gars  me  moop  wi'  the  servant  hizzie, 
Stand  i'  the  stool  when  I  hae  dune  — 
Guid  ale  keeps  the  heart  aboon  ! 

Chorus. 

O,  guid  ale  comes,  and  guid  ale  goes, 
Guid  ale  gars  me  sell  my  hose. 
Sell  my  hose,  and  pawn  my  shoon  ^ 
Guid  ale  keeps  my  heart  aboon  ! 


294 


DOES   HAUGHTY   GAUL  INVASION   THREAT? 


ROBIN  SHURE   IN  HAIRST. 

[Sent  by  Burns  to  Robert  Ainslie  with 
the  remark  :  "  I  have  brushed  up  the  follow- 
ing old  favorite  song  a  little,  with  a  view  to 
your  worship,  I  have  only  altered  a  word 
here  and  there ;  but  if  you  like  the  humor 
of  it,  we  shall  think  of  a  stanza  or  two  to 
add  to  it."] 

Chorus. 

Robin  shure  in  hairst, 

I  shure  wi'  him  : 
Fient  a  heuk  had  I, 

Yet  I  stack  by  him. 


I. 

I  GAED  up  to  Dunse 

To  warp  a  wab  o'  plaiden 
At  his  daddie's  yett 

Wha  met  me  but  Robin  ! 


II. 

Was  na  Robin  bauld, 

Tho'  I  was  a  cottar? 
Play'd  me  sic  a  trick, 

An'  me  the  Eller's  dochter  ! 

III. 

Robin  promis'd  me 

A"*  my  winter  vittle  : 
Fient  haet  he  had  but  three 

Guse  feathers  and  a  whittle  ! 

Chorus. 

Robin  shure  in  hairst, 

I  shure-  wi'  him  : 
Fient  a  heuk  had  I, 

Yet  I  stack  by  him. 


DOES  HAUGHTY  GAUL  IN- 
VASION THREAT? 

["  Written  for  the  Dumfries  Volunteers. 
Burns,  if  sincere,  changed  his  mind  about 


the  Revolution,  like  Coleridge  and  Words- 
worth."—ANDREW  Lang.] 


I. 

Does  haughty  Gaul  invasion  threat  ? 

Then  let  the  loons  beware,  Sir  ! 
There 's  wooden  walls  upon  our  seas 

And  volunteers  on  shore,  Sir : 
The  Nith  shall  run  to  Corsincon, 

And  Criffel  sink  in  Solway, 
Ere  we  permit  a  foreign  foe 

On  British  ground  to  rally  ! 


II. 


O,  let  us  not,  like  snarling  tykes, 

In  wrangling  be  divided. 
Till,  slap  !  come  in  an  unco  loun. 

And  wi'  a  rung  decide  it  ! 
Be  Britain  still  to  Britain  true, 

Amang  oursels  united  ! 
For  never  but  by  British  hands 

Maun  British  wrangs  be  righted ! 


III. 

The  kettle  o'  the  Kirk  and  State, 

Perhaps  a  clout  may  fail  in  't : 
But  Deil  a  foreign  tinkler  loon 

Shall  ever  ca'  a  nail  in  't  ! 
Our  fathers'  blude  the  kettle  bought. 

And  wha  wad  dare  to  spoil  it, 
By  Heav'ns  !  the  sacrilegious  dog 

Shall  fuel  be  to  boil  it ! 


rv. 


The  wretch  that  would  a  tyrant  own. 

And    the   wretch,    his    true-sworn 
brother. 
Who  would  set  the  mob  above  the 
throne. 

May  they  be  damn'd  together  ! 
Who  will  not  sing  God  save  the  King 

Shall  hang  as  high  's  the  steeple  ; 
But  while  we  sing  God  save  the  King, 

We  *11  ne'er  forget  the  People  ! 


O  ONCE  I   LOV'D.  — MY   LORD   A-HUNTING. 


295 


O   ONCE   I    LOV'D   A   BONIE 
LASS. 

[Of  this  song  Burns  says  :  "  The  following 
composition  was  the  first  of  my  perform- 
ances and  done  at  an  early  period  of  life, 
when  my  heart  glowed  with  honest  warm 
simplicity;  unacquainted  and  uncorrupted 
with  the  ways  of  a  wicked  world.  ,  .  .  The 
subject  of  it  was  a  young  girl,  who  really 
deserved  all  the  praises  I  have  bestowed 
upon  her.] 


O  ONCE  I  lovM  a  bonie  lass, 
Ay,  and  I  love  her  still ! 

And   whilst    that   virtue    warms 
breast, 
I  '11  love  my  handsome  Nell. 


my 


II. 


As  bonie  lasses  I  hae  seen, 
And  monie  full  as  braw. 

But  for  a  modest  gracefu'  mien 
The  like  I  never  saw. 


III. 


A  bonie  lass,  I  will  confess. 

Is  pleasant  to  the  e'e  ; 
But  without  some  better  qualities 

She  's  no  a  lass  for  me. 


IV. 


But  Nelly's  looks  are  blythe  and  sweet. 

And,  what  is  best  of  a'. 
Her  reputation  is  complete 

And  fair  without  a  flaw. 


She  dresses  ay  sae  clean  and  neat. 

Both  decent  and  genteel ; 
And  then  there  's  something  in  her 
gait 

Gars  onie  dress  look  weel. 


VI. 

A  gaudy  dress  and  gentle  air 
May  slightly  touch  the  heart ; 


But  it 's  innocence  and  modesty 
That  polishes  the  dart. 


VII. 


'T  is  this  in  Nelly  pleases  me, 
'T  is  this  enchants  my  soul ; 

For  absolutely  in  my  breast 
She  reigns  without  controul. 


MY   LORD   A-HUNTING. 

[Stenhouse  says  :  "Johnson  long  hesitated 
to  admit  this  song  into  his  work  ;  but  being 
blamed  for  such  fastidiousness,  he  at  length 
gave  it  a  place  there."] 

Choriis. 

My  lady's  gown,  there  's  gairs  upon  't. 
And  gowden  flowers  sae  rare  upon  *t ; 
But  Jenny's  jimps  and  jirkinet. 
My  lord  thinks  meikle  mair  upon  't  ! 

I. 

My  lord  a-hunting  he  is  gane. 
But  hounds  or  hawks  wi'  him  are  nane ; 
By  Colin's  cottage  lies  his  game. 
If  Colin's  Jenny  be  at  hame. 

II. 

My  lady  's  white,  my  lady  's  red, 
And  kith  and  kin  o'  Cassillis'  blude ; 
But  her  ten-pund  lands  o'  tocher  guid 
Were  a'  the  charms  his  lordship  lo'ed. 

III. 

Out  o'er  yon  muir,  out  o'er  yon  moss, 
Whare  gor-cocks   thro'   the   heather 

pass, 
There  wons  auld  Colin's  bonie  lass, 
A  lily  in  a  wilderness. 

IV. 

Sae  sweetly  move  her  genty  limbs. 
Like  music  notes  o'  lovers'  hymns  ! 
The  diamond-dew  in  her  een  sae  blue, 
Where    laushins:    love    sae    wanton 


swims 


laughing 

r 


296       SWEETEST  MAY.  — JOCKIE'S  TA'EN  THE   PARTING  KISS. 


V. 

My  lady 's  dink,  my  lady  's  drest, 
The  flower  and  fancy  o'  the  west ; 
But  the  lassie  that  a  man  lo'es  best, 
O,  that 's  the  lass  to  mak  him  blest ! 

.  Chorus. 

My  lady's  gown,  there  's  gairs  upon  't, 
And  gowden  flowers  sae  rare  upon  't, 
But  Jenny's  jimps  and  jirkinet, 
My  lord  thinks  meikle  mair  upon  't ! 


SWEETEST   MAY. 

[An  imitation,  open  and  unabashed,  of 
Ramsay's  "My  Sweetest  May,  let  Love 
incline  Thee."] 

I. 

Sweetest  May,  let  Love  inspire  thee  ! 
Take  a  heart  which  he  designs  thee : 
As  thy  constant  slave  regard  it. 
For  its  faith  and  truth  reward  it. 


II. 

Proof  o'  shot  to  birth  or  money. 
Not  the  wealthy  but  the  bonie. 
Not  the  high-born  but  noble-minded. 
In  love's  silken  band  can  bind  it. 


MEG  O'  THE  MILL. 

[Suggested,  doubtless,  by  an  older  ditty.] 

I. 

O,  KEN  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has 

gotten? 
An'  ken  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has 

gotten? 
A  braw  new  naig  wi'  the  tail  o'  a  rottan. 
And  that 's  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has 

gotten ! 


II. 

O,  ken  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  lo'es 

dearly  ? 
An'  ken  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  lo'es 

dearly  ? 
A  dram  o'  guid  strunt  in  a  morning 

early, 
And  that 's  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  lo'es 

dearly  ! 

III. 

O,  ken  ye  how  Meg  o*  the  Mill  was 

married  ? 
An'  ken  ye  how  Meg  o'  the  Mill  was 

married  ? 
The  priest  he  was  oxter'd,  the  dark 

he  was  carried, 
And  that 's  how  Meg  o'  the  Mill  was 

married  ! 

IV. 

O,  ken  ye  how  Meg  o'  the  Mill  was 

bedded? 
An'  ken  ye  how  Meg  o'  the  Mill  was 

bedded? 
The  groom  gat  sae  fii'  he  fell  awald 

beside  it, 
And  that 's  how  Meg  o'  the  Mill  was 

bedded  ! 


JOCKIE'S   TA'EN   THE   PART- 
ING  KISS. 

["Probably  written  in  sickness."  —  AN- 
DREW Lang.] 

I. 

JocKiE  's  ta'en  the  parting  kiss. 
O'er  the  mountains  he  is  gane, 

And  with  him  is  a'  my  bliss  — 

Nought  but  griefs  with  me  remain. 

II. 

Spare  my  luve,  ye  winds  that  blaw, 
Plashy  sleets  and  beating  rain  ! 

Spare  my  luve,  thou  feathery  snaw. 
Drifting  o'er  the  frozen  plain  ! 


O,  LAY  THY  LOOK  IN  MINE.— THERE  WAS  A  BONIE  LASS.        297 


III. 


When  the  shades  of  evening  creep 
O'er  the  day's  fair  gladsome  e^e, 

Sound  and  safely  may  he  sleep, 
Sweetly  blythe  his  waukening  be  ! 


IV. 


He  will  think  on  her  he  loves, 
Fondly  he  "11  repeat  her  name ; 

For  where'er  he  distant  roves, 
Jockie's  heart  is  still  at  hame. 


O,   LAY  THY   LOOF    IN    MINE, 
LASS. 

["  Perhaps  Miss  Levvars  is  the  heroine." 

—  Andrew  Lang.] 

Chorus. 

O,  lay  thy  loof  in  mine,  lass, 
In  mine,  lass,  in  mine,  lass, 
And  swear  on  thy  white  hand,  lass. 
That  thou  wilt  be  my  ain  ! 


I. 

A  SLAVE  to  Love's  unbounded  sway, 
He  aft  has  wrought  me  meikle  wae ; 
But  now  he  is  my  deadly  fae, 
Unless  thou  be  my  ain. 

II. 

There 's  monie  a  lass  has  broke  my 

rest, 
That  for  a  blink  I  hae  lo'ed  best ; 
But  thou  art  queen  within  my  breast, 
For  ever  to  remain. 

Chorus. 

O,  lay  thy  loof  in  mine,  lass. 
In  mine,  lass,  in  mine,  lass. 
And  swear  on  thy  white  hand,  lass. 
That  thou  wilt  be  my  ain  ! 


CAULD    IS   THE   E'ENIN 
BLAST. 

[The  tune,  "  Peggy  Ramsay,"  is  as  old  as 
Shakespeare's  time.  Sir  Toby  Belch  in 
"  Twelfth  Night "  says  "  Malvolio's  a  Peg-a- 
Ramsay."] 

I. 

Cauld  is  the  e''enin  blast 

O'  Boreas  o'er  the  pool. 
An'  dawin,  it  is  dreary. 

When  birks  are  bare  at  Yule. 

II. 

O,  cauld  blaws  the  e'enin  blast. 
When  bitter  bites  the  frost, 

And  in  the  mirk  and  dreary  drift 
The  hills  and  glens  are  lost ! 

III. 

Ne'er  sae  murky  blew  the  night 

That  drifted  o'er  the  hill, 
But  bonie  Peg-a-Ramsay 

Gat  grist  to  her  mill. 


THERE  WAS  A   BONIE    LASS. 

[A  cento  of  old  catchwords.] 

I. 

There  was  a  bonie  lass,  and  a  bonie, 
bonie  lass. 
And  she  loed  her  bonie  laddie  dear. 
Till  War's  loud  alarms  tore  her  laddie 
frae  her  arms 
Wi'  monie  a  sigh  and  a  tear. 

n. 

Over  sea,  over  shore,  where  the  can- 
nons loudly  roar, 
He  still  was  a  stranger  to  fear, 
And    nocht   could  him   quail,  or  his 
bosom  assail. 
But  the  bonie  lass  he  loed  sae  dear. 


298    THERE  'S  NEWS,  LASSES.  —  MALLY  'S  MEEK,  M ALLY  'S  SWEET. 


THERE'S    NEWS,    LASSES, 
NEWS. 

[Written  for  Johnson's"  Museum."  The 
original  is  evidently  a  fragment  in  the  Herd 
Ms.] 

Chorus. 

The  wean  wants  a  cradle, 
And  the  cradle  wants  a  cod, 

An'  I  '11  no  gang  to  my  bed 
Until  I  get  a  nod. 


There  's  news,  lasses,  news, 

Guid  news  I  've  to  tell  ! 
There  's  a  boatfu'  o'  lads 

Come  to  our  town  to  sell  ! 

II. 

'  Father,'  quo'  she,  '  Mither,'  quo'  she, 

'  Do  what  you  can  : 
I  '11  no  gang  to  my  bed 

Until  I  get  a  man  ! ' 

III. 

I  hae  as  guid  a  craft  rig 
As  made  o'  yird  and  stane ; 

And  waly  fa'  the  ley-crap 
For  I  maun  till'd  again. 

.    Chorus. 
The  wean  wants  a  cradle, 

And  the  cradle  wants  a  cod, 
An'  I  '11  no  gang  to  my  bed 

Until  I  get  a  nod. 


O,  THAT  I    HAD   NE'ER  BEEN 
MARRIED. 

[Burns  quotes  all  that  is  old  of  this  song 
in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  1795.  His  quota- 
tion includes  stanza  I.  and  the  chorus.] 

Chorus. 

Ance  crowdie,  twice  crowdie. 
Three  times  crowdie  in  a  day! 


Gin  ye  crowdie  onie  mair. 
Ye  '11  crowdie  a'  my  meal  away. 


I. 


O,  THAT  I  had  ne'er  been  married, 
I  wad  never  had  nae  care  ! 

Now  I  've  gotten  wife  an'  bairns, 
An'  they  cry  '  Crowdie '  evermair. 

II. 

Waefu'  Want  and  Hunger  fley  me, 
Glowrin  by  the  hallan  en' ; 

Sair  I  fecht  them  at  the  door. 
But  ay  I  'm  eerie  they  come  ben. 

Chorus. 

Ance  crowdie,  twice  crowdie, 
Three  times  crowdie  in  a  day  ! 

Gin  ye  crowdie  onie  mair. 

Ye  '11  crowdie  a'  my  meal  away. 


MALLY 'S    MEEK,    MALLY 'S 
SWEET. 

[Written  for  Johnson's  "  Museum."] 

Chorus. 

Mally  's  meek,  Mally  's  sweet, 
Mally  's  modest  and  discreet, 
Mally 's  rare,  Mally  's  fair, 
Mally  's  ev'ry  way  complete. 


As  I  was  walking  up  the  street, 
A  barefit  maid  I  chanc'd  to  meet ; 
But  O,  the  road  was  very  hard 
For  that  fair  maiden's  tender  feet  ! 

II. 

It  were  mair  meet  that  those  fine  feet 
Were  weel  laced  up  in  silken  shoon! 

An'  't  were  more  fit  that  she  should  sit 
Within  yon  chariot  gilt  aboon  ! 


WANDERING    WILLIE.  — BR  AW   LADS   O'   GALEA   WATER. 


299 


in. 

Her  yellow  hair,  beyond  compare, 
Comes    tumbling   down  her  swan- 
white  neck, 
And  her  twa  eyes,  like  stars  in  skies, 
Would   keep   a   sinking    ship  frae 
wreck. 

Chor'iis. 

Mally  \s  meek,  Mally  's  sweet, 
Mally  's  modest  and  discreet, 
Mally 's  rare,  Mally  \s  fair, 
Mally  's  evVy  way  complete. 


WANDERING  WILLIE. 

[Adapted  by  Burns  from  an  old  ballad.] 

I. 

Here    awa,    there    awa,    wandering 
Willie, 
Here   awa,   there   awa,   haud   awa 
hame  ! 
Come    to    my   bosom,   my   ae    only 
dearie, 
And  tell  me  thou  bring'st  me  my 
Willie  the  same. 

II. 

Loud  tho'  the  Winter  blew  cauld  at 
our  parting, 
'T  was  na  the  blast  brought  the  tear 
in  my  e'e : 
Welcome  now  Simmer,  and  welcome 
my  Willie, 
The  Simmer  to  Nature,  my  Willie 
to  me  ! 

III. 

Rest,  ye  wild  storms  in  the  cave  o' 
your  slumbers  — 
How   your   wild   howling   a   lover 
alarms  ! 
Wauken,  ye  breezes,  row  gently,  ye 
billows, 
And  waft  my  dear  laddie  ance  mair 
to  ray  arms. 


IV. 


But  O,  if  he^s  faithless,  and  minds  na 
his  Nannie, 
Flow  still  between  us,  thou  wide- 


roan  ng  mam 


May  1  never  see  it,  may  I  never  trow 
it, 
But,  dying,  believe  that  my  Willie 's 
my  ain  ! 


BRAW  LADS  O^  GALEA  WATER. 

[Sent  to  Thomson's  "  Scottish  Airs." 
Burns  got  his  lyrical  idea  from  one  of  "  Five 
Excellent  New  Songs  "  in  a  very  old  chap.] 


I. 

Braw,  braw  lads  on  Yarrow  braes. 
They    rove    amang   the   blooming 
heather ; 

But  Yarrow  braes  nor  Ettrick  shaws 
Can  match  the  lads  o"  Galla  Water. 


II. 

But  there  is  ane,  a  secret  ane, 
Aboon  them  a'  I  loe  him  better ; 

And  I  ^11  be  his,  and  he  "11  be  mine. 
The  bonie  lad  o"  Galla  Water. 


III. 

Altho'  his  daddie  w^as  nae  laird, 
And  tho'  I  hae  nae  meikle  tocher. 

Yet,  rich  in  kindest,  truest  love. 
We  "11    tent   our    flocks    by    Galla 
Water. 

IV. 

It    ne'er  was    wealth,    it    ne'er    was 
wealth. 
That  coft  contentment,  peace,  and 
pleasure : 
The  bands  and  bliss  o'  mutual  love. 
O,  that 's  the  chiefest  w^arld's  treas- 
ure ! 


300 


AULD   ROB   MORRIS.  — OPEN  THE   DOOR  TO   ME,   O. 


AULD   ROB   MORRIS. 

[Burns,  writing  to  Thonason,  says :  "  I 
have  partly  taken  your  idea  of  '  Auld  Rob 
Morris.'  I  have  adopted  the  first  two 
verses,  and  am  going  on  with  the  song  on  a 
new  plan,  which  promises  pretty  well."] 

I. 

There  's  Auld  Rob  Morris  that  wons 

in  yon  glen, 
He 's  the  king  o'  guid   fellows  and 

wale  of  auld  men  : 
He  has  gowd  in  his  coffers,  he  has 

owsen  and  kine, 
And  ae  bonie  lassie,  his  dautie  and 

mine. 

n. 

She 's  fresh  as  the  morning  the  fairest 

in  May, 
She 's  sweet  as  the  ev'ning  amang  the 

new  hay. 
As  blythe  and  as  artless  as  the  lambs 

on  the  lea. 
And  dear  to  my  heart  as  the  light  to 

my  e'e. 

III. 

But  O,  she 's  an  heiress,  auld  Robin 's 
a  laird, 

And  my  daddie  has  nocht  but  a  cot- 
house  and  yard  ! 

A  wooer  like  me  maunna  hope  to 
come  speed : 

The  wounds  I  must  hide  that  will 
soon  be  my  dead. 

IV. 

The  day  comes  to  me,  but   delight 

brings  me  nane ; 
The  night  comes  to  me,  but  my  rest 

it  is  gane ; 
I  wander  my  lane  like  a  night-troubled 

ghaist, 
And  I  sigh  as  my  heart  it  wad  burst 

in  my  breast. 


O,  had  she  but  been  of  a  lower  de- 
gree, 

I  then  might  hae  hop'd  she  wad  smiPd 
upon  me  ! 

O,  how  past  descriving  had  then  been 
my  bliss, 

As  now  my  distraction  no  words  can 
express  ! 


OPEN   THE   DOOR   TO   ME,   O. 

[It  is  doubtful  how  far  Burns  is  indebted 
to  an  original,  for  none  has  ever  been 
found.  In  Thomson  it  is  headed,  "  As 
altered  for  this  work  by  Burns,"  and  the 
air  is  marked  as  Irish.] 

•  I. 

O,  OPEN  the  door  some  pity  to  shew, 

If  love  it  may  na  be,  O  ! 
Tho'  thou  hast  been  false,  1 11  ever 
prove  true  — 

O,  open  the  door  to  me,  O  ! 

II. 

Cauld    is  the    blast  upon    my  pale 
cheek, 
But  caulder  thy  love  for  me,  O  : 
The  frost,  that  freezes  the  life  at  my 
heart. 
Is  nought  to  my  pains  frae  thee,  O  ' 

III. 

The  wan  moon  sets  behind  the  white 
wave. 
And  Time  is  setting  with  me,  O  : 
False  friends,  false  love,  farewell !  for 
mair 
I  Ul  ne'er  trouble  them  nor  thee,  O  ! 

IV. 

She   has   opened   the   door,  she   has 
opened  it  wide. 
She   sees  the   pale   corse    on  the 
plain,  O, 


WHEN    WILD    WAR'S   DEADLY   BLAST. 


301 


'My  true  love  ! '  she  cried,  and  sank 
down  by  his  side  — 
Never  to  rise  again,  O  ! 


WHEN   WILD  WARS   DEADLY 
BLAST. 

[Sent  to  Thomson  by  Burns,  who  says, 
"  I  send  vou  also  a  ballad  to  the  tune  of 
'The  Mill  and  the  Mill,  O.'"  Thomson 
made  certain  changes  in  the  song;  but  on 
a  copy  sent  to  Miss  Graham  of  Fintry, 
Burns  restored  the  old  readings.] 


When  wild  War's  deadly  blast  was 
blawn. 

And  gentle  Peace  returning, 
Wi'  monie  a  sweet  babe  fatherless 

And  monie  a  widow  mourning, 
I  left  the  lines  and  tented  field. 

Where  lang  I  'd  been  a  lodger, 
My  humble  knapsack  a'  my  wealth, 

A  poor  and  honest  sodger. 


n. 

A  leal,  light  heart  was  in  my  breast. 

My  hand  unstained  wi'  plunder. 
And  for  fair  Scotia,  hame  again, 

I  cheery  on  did  wander : 
I  thought  upon  the  banks  o'  Coil, 

I  thought  upon  my  Nancy, 
And  ay  I  mind't  the  witching  smile 

That  caught  my  youthful  fancy. 


III. 

At  length  I  reached  the  bonie  glen, 

Where  early  life  I  sported. 
I  pass'd  the  mill  and  trysting  thorn, 

Where  Nancy  aft  I  courted. 
Wha  spied  I  but  my  ain  dear  maid, 

Down  by  her  mother's  dwelling. 
And  turnM    me   round   to    hide    the 
flood 

That  in  my  een  was  swelling ! 


IV. 

Wi'  altered  voice,  quoth  I :  — *  Sweet 
lass. 

Sweet  as  yon  hawthorn's  blossom, 
O,  happy,  happy  may  he  be. 

That  "s  dearest  to  thy  bosom  ! 
My  purse  is  light,  I  've  far  to  gang, 

And  fain  wad  be  thy  lodger ; 
IVe  served  my  king  and  country  lang —      * 

Take  pity  on  a  sodger.' 


Sae  wistfully  she  gaz'd  on  me, 

And  lovelier  was  than  ever. 
Quo'  she  :  —  'A  sodger  ance  I  lo'ed, 

Forget  him  shall  I  never. 
Our  humble  cot,  and  hamely  fare. 

Ye  freely  shall  partake  it ; 
That  gallant  badge  —  the  dear  cock- 
ade— 

Ye  're  welcome  for  the  sake  o  't  ! ' 

VI. 

She  gaz'd.  she  redden'd  like  a  rose, 

Syne,  pale  like  onie  lily. 
She  sank  within  my  arms,  and  cried  — 

'Art  thou  my  ain  dear  Willie? ' 
'  By  Him  who  made  yon  sun  and  sky. 

By  -whom  true  love  's  regarded, 
I  am  the  man  !     And  thus  may  still 

True  lovers  be  rewarded  ! 

VII. 

'  The  wars   are  o'er  and   I  'm   come 
hame. 

And  find  thee  still  true-hearted. 
Tho'  poor  in  gear  we  're  rich  in  love, 

And  main  we 'se  ne'er  be  parted.' 
Quo'  she  :  —  '  My  grandsire  left  me 
gowd, 

A  mailen  plenish'd  fairly  ! 
And  come,  my  faithfu'  sodger  lad. 

Thou  "rt  welcome  to  it  dearly  !' 

VIII. 

For  gold  the  merchant  ploughs  the 
main, 
The  farmer  ploughs  the  manor; 


302 


DUNCAN   GRAY.  — DELUDED    SWAIN,   THE   PLEASURE. 


But  glory  is  the  sodger's  prize, 
The  sodger's  weatth  is  honour  ! 

The  brave  poor  sodger  ne'er  despise, 
Nor  count  him  as  a  stranger : 

Remember  he 's  his  country's  stay 
In  day  and  hour  of  danger. 


DUNCAN   GRAY. 

[Of  this  song  and  "  Auld  Rob  Morris" 
Burns  says  to  Tiiomson  :  "The  foregoing  I 
submit,  my  dear  sir,  to  your  better  judg- 
ment; acquit  them  or  condemn  them  as 
seeuieth  good  in  thy  sight.  '  Duncan  Gray  ' 
is  that  kind  of  light-horse  gallop  of  an  air 
which  precludes  sentiment.  The  ludicrous 
is  its  ruling  feature."] 


I. 

Duncan  Gray  cam  here  to  woo 

(Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't  !) 
On  blythe  Yule-Night  when  we  were 
fou 
(Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't !). 
Maggie  coost  her  head  fu'  high, 
Look'd  asklent  and  unco  skeigh, 
Gart  poor  Duncan  stand  abeigh  — 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't ! 

II. 

Duncan  fleech'd,  and  Duncan  pray'd 

(Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't !), 
Meg  was  deaf  as  Ailsa  Craig 
(Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't !). 
Duncan  sigh'd  baith  out  and  in, 
Grat  his  een  baith  bleer't  an  blin', 
Spak  o'  lowpin  o'er  a  linn  — 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't ! 

III. 

Time  and  Chance  are  but  a  tide 
(Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't !  )  : 

Slighted  love  is  sair  to  bide 
(Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't  !). 

'  Shall  I  like  a  fool,'  quoth  he, 

'F'or  a  haughty  hizzie  die? 

She  may  gae  to  —  France  for  me  ! '  — 
Ha,  ha^the  wooing  o  't ! 


IV. 

How  it  comes,  let  doctors  tell 

(Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't)  : 
Meg  grew  sick,  as  he  grew  hale 

(Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't!). 
Something  in  her  bosom  wrings, 
For  relief  a  sigh  she  brings, 
AndO!  her  een  they  spak  sic  things!  — 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't ! 


Duncan  was  a  lad  o'  grace 
(Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't  !) 

Maggie's  was  a  piteous  case 
(Ha,  ha.  the  wooing  o't  ! )  : 

Duncan  could  na  be  her  death, 

Swelling  pity  smoor'd  his  wrath  ; 

Now  they  're  crouse  and  canty  baith- 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't  ! 


DELUDED   SWAIN,   THE 
PLEASURE. 

["  Pastiche  of  little  merit  on  an  old  song." 

—  Andrew  Lang.] 

I. 

Deluded  swain,  the  pleasure 

The  fickle  Fair  can  give  thee 
Is  but  a  fairy  treasure  — 

Thy  hopes  will  soon  deceive  thee : 
The  billows  on  the  ocean. 

The  breezes  idly  roaming, 
The  cloud's  uncertain  motion. 

They  are  but  types  of  Woman  ! 

II. 

O,  art  thou  not  ashamed 

To  doat  upon  a  feature? 
If  Man  thou  wouldst  be  named, 

Despise  the  silly  creature  ! 
Go,  find  an  honest  fellow. 

Good  claret  set  before  thee, 
Hold  on  till  thou  art  mellow, 

And  then  to  bed  in  glory  ! 


HERE  IS  THE  GLEN.  — LORD  GREGORY. 


303 


HERE   IS   THE   GLEN. 

[Burns,  writing  to  Thomson,  says  of  this 
song:  "I  know  you  value  a  composition 
because  it  is  made  by  one  of  the  great  ones 
as  Httle  as  I  do.  However,  I  got  an  air, 
pretty  enough,  composed  by  Lady  Eliza- 
beth Heron  of  Heron,  whicli  she  calls  the 
'  Banks  of  Cree."  Cree  is  a  beautiful,  ro- 
mantic stream,  and,  as  her  ladyship  is  a 
particular  friend  of  mme,  I  have  written  the 
following  song  to  it."] 

I. 

Here  is  the  glen,  and  here  the  bower 

All  underneath  the  birchen  shade, 
The  village-bell  has  tolPd  the  hour  — 

O,  what  can  stay  my  lovely  maid  ? 
'T  is  not  Maria's  whispering  call  — 

'T  is  but  the  balmy-breathing  gale, 
Mixed  with  some  warbler's  dying  fall 

The  dewy  star  of  eve  to  hail  ! 

II. 

It  is  Maria's  voice  I  hear  !  — 

So  calls  the  woodlark  in  the  grove 
His  little  faithful  mate  to  cheer: 

At  once  't  is  music  and  't  is  love  ! 
And  art  thou  come  ?     And  art  thou 
true? 

O,  welcome,  dear,  to  love  and  me, 
And  let  us  all  our  vows  renew 

Along  the  flowery  banks  of  Cree  ! 


LET   NOT  WOMEN   E'ER 
COMPLAIN. 

[Burns  says :  "  These  English  songs 
gravel  me  to  death.  I  have  not  that  com- 
mand of  the  language  that  I  have  of  my 
native  tongue.  In  fact,  I  think  my  ideas 
are  more  barren  in  English  than  in  Scot- 
tish. I  have  been  at  '  Duncan  Gray,'  to 
dress  it  in  English,  but  all  I  can  do  is  de- 
plorably stupid."] 

I. 

Let  not  women  e'er  complain 
Of  inconstancy  in  love  .' 


Let  not  women  e'er  complain 
Fickle  man  is  apt  to  rove  ! 
Look  abroad  thro'  Nature's  range, 
Nature's  mighty  law  is  change  : 
Ladies,  would  it  not  be  strange 
Man  should  then  a  monster  prove? 

II. 

Mark  the  winds,  and  mark  the  skies. 
Ocean's  ebb  and  ocean's  flow. 

Sun  and  moon  but  set  to  rise. 
Round  and  round  the  seasons  go. 

Why,  then,  ask  of  silly  man 

To  oppose  great  Nature's  plan  ? 

We  "11  be  constant,  while  we  can  — 
You  can  be  no  more,  you  know  ! 


LORD    GREGORY. 

[Peter  Pindar  (Dr.  Wolcott)  wrote  Eng- 
lish verses  for  Thomson  on  the  same 
theme.  In  relation  to  this,  Burns  wiites: 
"  I  have  tried  to  give  you  a  set  of  stanzas  in 
Scots  on  the  same  subject,  which  are  at 
your  service.  Not  that  I  intend  to  enter 
the  lists  with  Peter  —  that  would  be  pre- 
sumption indeed  !  My  song,  though  much 
inferior  in  poetic  merit,  has,  I  think,  more 
of  the  ballad  simplicity  in  it."] 


O,  MIRK,  mirk  is  this  midnight  hour. 
And  loud  the  tempest's  roar  ! 

A  w-aefu'  wanderer  seeks  thy  tower  — 
Lord  Gregory,  ope  thy  door. 

II. 

An  exile  frae  her  father's  ha'. 

And  a'  for  sake  o"  thee, 
At  least  some  pity  on  me  shaw, 

If  love  it  may  na  be. 

III. 

Lord  Gregory  mind'st  thou  not  the 
grove 

By  bonie  Irwine  side. 
Where  first  I  own'd  that  virgin  love 

I  lang,  lang  had  denied? 


304 


O,   STAY,   SWEET   WARBLING   WOOD-LARK. 


IV. 


How  aften  didst  thou  pledge  and  vow, 
Thou  wad  for  ay  be  mine  ! 

And  my  fond  heart,  itseP  sae  true, 
It  ne'er  mistrusted  thine. 


V. 


Hard  is  thy  heart,  Lord  Gregory, 

And  flinty  is  thy  breast : 
Thou  bolt  of  Heaven  that  flashest  by, 

O,  wilt  thou  bring  me  rest  ! 


VI. 


Ye  mustering  thunders  from  above. 

Your  willing  victim  see, 
But  spare  and  pardon  my  fause  love 

His  wrangs  to  Heaven  and  me  ! 


O   POORTITH   CAULD. 

[Gilbert  Burns  told  Thomson  that  Burns's 
heroine  was  a  Miss  Jane  Blackstock,  after- 
wards Mrs.  Whittier  of  Liverpool.  But  it 
was  probaWy  Jean  Lorimer,  who  was  then 
contemplating  the  marriage  of  which  she 
instantly  repented.] 

Chorus. 

O,  why  should  Fate  sic  pleasure  have 
Life's  dearest  bands  untwining? 

Or  why  sae  sweet  a  flower  as  love 
Depend  on  Fortune's  shining? 


I. 

O  PooRTiTH  cauld  and  restless  Love, 
Ye  wrack  my  peace  between  ye  ! 

Yet  poortith  a'  I  could  forgive. 
An  't  were  na  for  my  Jeanie. 

II. 

The  warld's  wealth  when  I  think  on, 
Its  pride  and  a'  the  lave  o  't  — 

My  curse  on  silly  coward  man, 
That  he  should  be  the  slave  o  't ! 


III. 


Her  een  sae  bonie  blue  betray 
How  she  repays  my  passion ; 

But  prudence  is  her  o'erword  ay  ; 
She  talks  o'  rank  and  fashion. 

rv. 

O,  wha  can  prudence  think  upon, 

And  sic  a  lassie  by  him  ? 
O,  wha  can  prudence  think  upon, 

And  sae  in  love  as  I  am  ? 

V. 

How  blest  the  wild-wood  Indian's  fate  ! 

He  woos  his  artless'  dearie  — 
The  silly  bogles,  Wealth  and  State, 

Can  never  make  him  eerie. 

Chorus. 

O,  why  should  Fate  sic  pleasure  have. 
Life's  dearest  bands  untwining  ? 

Or  why  sae  sweet  a  flower  as  love 
Depend  on  Fortune's  shining? 


O,    STAY,    SWEET    WARBLING 
WOOD-LARK. 

["  If  this  piece  had  an  occasion,  nothing 
is  known  about  it."— Andrew  Lang.] 


O,  STAY,  sweet  warbling   wood-lark, 

stay, 
Nor  quit  for  me  the  trembling  spray  ! 
A  hapless  lover  courts  thy  lay, 

Thy  soothing,  fond  complaining. 
Again,  again  that  tender  part, 
That  I  may  catch  thy  melting  art ! 
For  surely  that  wad  touch  her  heart, 

Wha  kills  me  wi'  disdaining. 

II. 

Say,  was  thy  little  mate  unkind. 
And  heard  thee  as  the  careless  wind? 
O,  nocht  but  love  and  sorrow  join'd 
Sic  notes  o'  woe  could  wauken  ! 


SAW  YE   BONIE   LESLEY.  —  YOUNG  JESSIE. 


305 


Thou  tells  o'  never-ending  care, 
O'  speechless  grief  and  dark  despair — 
For  pity's  sake,  sweet  bird,  nae  mair, 
Or  my  poor  heart  is  broken  ! 


SAW   YE   BONIE   LESLEY. 

["  Bonie  Lesley  "  was  Miss  Leslie  Baillie, 
daughter  of  Mr.  Baillie  of  Mayfield,  Ayr- 
shire. She  married  in  June,  1799,  Mr.  Rob- 
ert Gumming  of  Logie,  and  died  in  July, 
I843-J 

I. 

O,  SAW  ye  bonie  Lesley, 

As  she  gaed  o'er  the  Border? 

She  'S  gane,  like  Alexander, 
To  Spread  her  conquests  farther  ! 

II. 

To  see  her  is  to  love  her, 
And  love  but  her  for  ever ; 

For  Nature  made  her  what  she  is, 
And  never  made  anither  ! 

III. 

Thou  art  a  queen,  fair  Lesley  — 
Thy  subjects,  we  before  thee  ! 

Thou  art  divine,  fair  Lesley  — 
The  hearts  o'  men  adore  thee. 

IV. 

The  Deil  he  could  na  skaith  thee, 
Or  aught  that  wad  belang  thee : 

He  'd  look  into  thy  bonie  face. 
And  say  — '  I  canna  wrang  thee  ! ' 

V. 

The  Powers  aboon  will  tent  thee, 
Misfortune  sha'  na  steer  thee  : 

Thou  Vt  like  themseP  sae  lovely, 
That  ill  they  '11  ne'er  let  near  thee. 

VI. 

Return  again,  fair  Lesley, 

Return  to  Caledonie  ! 
That  we  may  brag  we  hae  a  lass 

There  "s  nane  again  sae  bonie. 


SWEET   FA'S   THE   EVE. 

["  How  will  the  following  do  for  '  Craig- 
ieburn  Wood'?"  (Burns  to  Thomson, 
Jan.  15,  1795.)  See  "  Craigieburn  Wood," 
P-  253-] 


Sweet  fa's  the  eve  on  Craigieburn, 
And  blythe  awakes  the  morrow, 

But  a"  the  pride  o"  Spring's  return 
Can  yield  me  nocht  but  sorrow. 

II. 

I  see  the  flowers  and  spreading  trees, 
I  hear  the  wild  birds  singing ; 

But  what  a  weary  wight  can  please, 
And  Care  his  bosom  is  wringing.? 

III. 

Fain,  fain  would  I  my  griefs  impart. 
Yet  dare  na  for  your  anger ; 

But  secret  love  will  break  my  heart. 
If  I  conceal  it  langer. 

IV. 

If  thou  refuse  to  pity  me. 
If  thou  shalt  love  another, 

When  yon  green  leaves  fade  frae  the 
tree, 
Around  my  grave  they  "11  wither. 


YOUNG  JESSIE. 

[The  lady  was  Miss  Jessie  Staig  (daughter 
of  Provost  Staig  of  Dumfries,  on  \vhose  re- 
covery from  illness  Burns  wrote  the  epigram 
"To  Dr.  Maxwell."] 


True  hearted  was  he,  the  sad  swain 

o'  the  Yarrow, 
And  fair  are  the  maids  on  the  banks 

of  the  Ayr ; 
But  by  the  sweet  side  o'  the  Nith'i 

winding  river 


3o6 


ADOWN   WINDING  NITH. 


Are  lovers  as  faithful  and  maidens 

as  fair : 
To  equal  young  Jessie  seek  Scotia  all 

over  — 
To  equal  young  Jessie  you  seek  it 

in  vain  ! 
Grace,  beauty,  and  elegance  fetter  her 

lover. 
And   maidenly   modesty  fixes   the 

chain. 

II. 

Fresh  is  the  rose  in  the  gay,  dewy 
morning, 
And  sweet  is  the  lily  at  evening 
close ; 
But    in   the   fair    presence   o'   lovely 
young  Jessie 
Unseen  is  the  lily,  unheeded  the 
rose. 
Love  sits  in  her  smile,  a  wizard  en- 
snaring ; 
Enthroned  in  her  een  he  delivers 
his  law ; 
And  still  to  her  charms  she  alone  is  a 
stranger : 
Her  modest  demeanour 's  the  jewel 
of  a'. 


ADOWN   WINDING    NITH. 

["  Miss  Phillis  is  a  Miss  Phillis  M'Murdo, 
sister  to  the  '  Boiiie  Jean '  which  I  sent  you 
some  time  ago."  (Burns  to  Thomson,  Au- 
gust, 1793.)] 

Chorus. 

Awa  wi'  your  belles  and  your  beau- 
ties— 

They  never  wi'  her  can  compare  ! 
Whaever  hae  met  wi'  my  Phillis 

Has  met  wi^  the  Queen  o'  the  Fair  ! 

I. 

Adown  winding  Nith  I  did  wander 
To  mark  the  sweet  flowers  as  they 
spring. 

Adown  winding  Nith  I  did  wander 
Of  Phillis  to  muse  and  to  sing. 


II. 


The  Daisy  amus'd  my  fond  fancy, 
So  artless,  so  simple,  so  wild : 

'  Thou  emblem,'  said  I,  '  o'  my  Phil- 
lis-  — 
For  she  is  Simplicity's  child. 


III. 

The    rose-bud 's    the    blush    o"    my 
charmer. 
Her    sweet    balmy    lip  when   'tis 
prest. 
How  fair  and  how  pure  is  the  lily  ! 
But  fairer  and  purer  her  breast. 


IV. 

Yon  knot  of  gay  flowers  in  the  arbour, 
They  ne'er  wi'  my  Phillis  can  vie : 

Her  breath  is  the  breath  of  the  wood- 
bine. 
Its  dew-drop  o'  diamond  her  eye. 


Her  voice  is  the  song  o'  the  morning, 
That  wakes  thro'  the  green-spread- 
ing grove, 
When  Phebus  peeps  over  the  moun- 
tains 
On  music,  and  pleasure,  and  love. 


VI. 

But  Beauty,  how  frail  and  how  fleet- 
ing ! 
The  bloom  of  a  fine  sninraer's  day  \ 
While    Worth    in   the    mind    o'   my 
Phillis 
Will  flourish  without  a  decay. 

Chorus. 

Awa  wi'  your  belles  and  your  beau- 
ties — 

They  never  wi'  her  can  compare  ! 
Whaever  hae  met  wi'  my  Phillis 

Has  met  wi'  the  Queen  o'  the  Fair ! 


A  LASS  WI'  A  TOCHER.  — BY  ALLAN  STREAM. 


307 


A   LASS   Wr   A   TOCHER. 

["  The  other  day  I  strung  up  a  kind  of 
rhapsody  to  another  Hibernian  melody 
that  I  admire  much."  (Burns  to  Thomson, 
February,  1796.)  The  "  Hibernian  melody  " 
was  "  Balinamona  Ora."] 

Chorus. 

Then  hey  for  a  lass  wi'  a  tocher, 
Then  hey  for  a  lass  wi^  a  tocher, 
Then  hey  for  a  lass  wi'  a  tocher, 
The  nice  yellow  guineas  for  me  ! 

I. 

AwA  wi'  your  witchcraft  o'  Beauty's 

alarms, 
The  slender  bit  beauty  you  grasp  in 

your  arms  ! 
O,  gie  me  the  lass  that  has  acres  o' 


charms  ! 
ie  me  tl 
farms  ! 


O,  gie  me  the  lass  wi^  the  weel-stockit 


II. 

"N  our  Beauty  's  a  flower  in  the  morn- 
ing that  blows, 

And  withers  the  faster  the  faster  it 
grows ; 

But  the  rapturous  charm  o^  the  bonie 
green  knowes, 

Ilk  spring  they  're  new  deckit  wi' 
bonie  white  yowes  ! 

III. 

And    e'en    when    this    Beauty    your 

bosom  has  blest, 
The   brightest   o'    Beauty  may    cloy 

when  possess'd : 
But   the   sweet,    yellow   darlings    wi' 

Geordie  impressed. 
The   langer   ye  hae  them,  the  mair 

they  "re  carest ! 

CJioriis. 

Then  hey  for  a  lass  wi'  a  tocher. 
Then  hey  for  a  lass  wi'  a  tocher, 
Then  hey  for  a  lass  wi'  a  tocher. 
The  nice  yellow  guineas  for  me  ! 


BLYTHE    HAE   I    BEEN   ON 
YON    HILL. 

[Burns  writes  this  "  is  one  of  the  finest 
songs  I  ever  made  in  my  life,  and  is  com- 
posed on  a  young  lady,  positively  the  most 
beautiful  lovely  woman  in  the  world."  She 
was  Miss  Leslie  Baillie.] 


Blythe  hae  I  been  on  yon  hill 

As  the  lambs  before  me, 
Careless  ilka  thought,  and  free 

As  the  breeze  flew  o'er  me. 
Now  nae  langer  sport  and  play. 

Mirth  or  sang  can  please  me  : 
Lesley  is  sae  fair  and  coy. 

Care  and  anguish  seize  me. 

II. 

Heavy,  heavy  is  the  task, 

Hopeless  love  declaring! 
Trembling,  I  dow  nocht  but  glow'r 

Sighing,  dumb  despairing  ! 
If  she  winna  ease  the  thraws 

In  my  bosom  swelling. 
Underneath  the  grass-green  sod 

Soon  maun  be  my  dwelling. 


BY   ALLAN    STREAM. 

[Written  in  August,  1793.  The  poem 
pleased  Burns,  who  writes,  "  I  may  be 
wrong,   but   I  think  it  is  not  in  my  worst 

style."] 


By  Allan  stream  I  chanc'd  to  rove. 
While  Phebus  sank   beyond   Ben- 
ledi ; 
The  winds  were  whispering  thro'  the 
grove. 
The  yellow  corn  was  waving  ready  ; 
I  listen'd  to  a  lover's  sang. 

An'  thought  on  youthfu'  pleasures 
monie. 
And  ay  the  wild-wood  echoes  rang :  — 
•  O,  my  love  Annie  's  very  bonie  ! 


3o8 


CANST  THOU   LEAVE   ME.  —  CONTENTED    WI'   LITTLE. 


II. 

''  O,  happy  be  the  woodbine  bower, 

Nae  nightly  bogle  make  it  eerie ! 
Nor  ever  sorrow  stain  the  hour, 

The  place  and  time  I  met  my  dearie  ! 
Her  head  upon  my  throbbing  breast, 

She,    sinking,  said  :  —  "I  'm  thine 
for  ever  !  ^' 
While  monie  a  kiss  the  seal  imprest  — 

The  sacred  vow   we  ne'er  should 
sever.' 

III. 

The  haunt  o'  Spring  's  the  primrose- 
brae. 
The   Summer   joys   the    flocks   to 
follow. 
How  cheery  thro'  her  shortening  day 
Is  Autumn  in  her  weeds  o'  yellow  ! 
But  can  they  melt  the  glowing  heart. 
Or   chain   the   soul   in    speechless 
pleasure. 
Or  thro'  each  nerve  the  rapture  dart. 
Like    meeting    her,    our     bosom's 
treasure  ? 


CANST  THOU   LEAVE   ME  ! 

["  Well,  I  think  this,  to  be  done  in  two  or 
three  turns  across  my  room,  and  with  two 
or  three  pinches"  of  Irish  blackguard,  is  not 
far  amiss.  You  see,  I  am  determined  to 
have  my  quantum  of  applause  from  some- 
body."  (Burns  to  Thomson,  Nov.  20, 1794.)  J 

Chorus. 

Canst  thou  leave  me  thus,  my  Katie  ! 

Canst  thou  leave  me  thus,  my  Katie  ! 
Well  thou  know'st  my  aching  heart, 

And  canst  thou  leave  me  thus  for 
pity? 


Is  this  thy  plighted,  fond  regard : 
Thus  cruelly  to  part,  my  Katie? 

Is  this  thy  faithful  swain's  rew^ard  : 
An  aching  broken  heart,  my  Katie? 


II. 

Farewell !     And   ne'er  such   sorrows 

tear 

That  fickle  heart  of  thine,  my  Katie  ! 

Thou  may'st  find  those  will  love  thee 

dear, 

But  not  a  love  like  mine,  my  Katie. 

Chorus. 

Canst  thou  leave  me  thus,  my  Katie  ! 

Canst  thou  leave  me  thus,  my  Katie  ! 
Well  thou  know'st  my  aching  heart, 

And  canst  thou  leave  me  thus  for 
pity? 


COME,  LET  ME  TAKE  THEE. 

["  A  mosaic.  Lines  written  many  years 
earlier,  in  '  Peggy  Alison,'  are  added  to 
verses  suggested  by  Jean  Lorimer."  —  AN- 
DREW Lang.] 


Come,  let  me  take  thee  to  my  breast, 

And  pledge  we  ne'er  shall  sunder. 
And  I  shall  spurn  as  vilest  dust 

The  world's  wealth  and  grandeur  ! 
And  do  I  hear  my  Jeanie  own 

That  equal  transports  move  her? 
I  ask  for  dearest  life  alone. 

That  I  may  live  to  love  her. 

II. 

Thus  in  my  arms,  wi'  a'  her  charms, 

I  clasp  my  countless  treasure, 
I  '11  seek  nae  mair  o'  Heav'n  to  share 

Than  sic  a  moment's  pleasure  ! 
And  by  thy  een  sae  bonie  blue 

I  swear  I  'm  thine  for  ever. 
And  on  thy  lips  I  seal  my  vow. 

And  break  it  shall  I  never  ! 


CONTENTED    WP   LITTLE. 

["  I  have  some  thoughts  of  suggesting  to 
you  to  prepare  a  vignette  ...  to  my  song 
'  Contented  wi'  Little  and  Cantie  wi'  Ma    , 


FAREWELL,  THOU   STREAM.  — HAD    I   A  CAVE. 


309 


in  order  the  portrait  of  my  face  and  the  pic- 
ture of  my  mind  may  go  down  the  stream 
of  time  together."  (Burns,  to  Thomson, 
May,  1795.)] 


Contented  wi'  little  and  cantie  \vi' 

mair, 
Whene'er  I  forgather  wi'  Sorrow  and 

Care, 
I  gie  them  a  skelp,  as  they  're  creepin 

alang, 
Wi'  a  cog  o'  guid  swats  and  an  auld 

Scottish  sang. 

II. 

I  whyles  claw  the  elbow  o'  troublesome 

Thought ; 
But  Man  is  a  soger,  and  Life  is  a  faught. 
My  mirth  and  guid  humour  are  coin  in 

my  pouch. 
And  my  Freedom  's  my  lairdship  nae 

monarch  daur  touch. 

III. 

A  towmond  o'  trouble,  should  that  be 

my  fa', 
A  night  o'  guid  fellowship  sowthers 

it  a': 
When  at  the  blythe  end  o'  our  journey 

at  last, 
Wha  the  Deil  ever  thinks  o'  the  road 

he  has  past? 

rv. 

Blind   Chance,  let  her  snapper  and 

stoyte  on  her  way, 
Be  *t  to  me,  be  "t  frae  me,  e'en  let  the 

jade  gae  ! 
Come    Ease  or  come    Travail,  come 

Pleasure  or  Pain, 
My  warst  word  is  — '  Welcome,  and 

welcome  a^ain  ! ' 


FAREWELL,  THOU   STREAM. 

[The  heroine  was  Maria  Riddell,  to  whom 
Burns  sent  a  copy.  To  this  he  added  this 
note  (first  published  in  the  Centenary  edi- 


tion),"  On  reading  over  the  song,  I  see  it  is 
but  a  cold,  inanimated  composition.  It  will 
be  absolutely  necessary  for  me  to  get  in  love, 
else  I  shall  never  be  able  to  make  a  line 
worth  reading  on  the  subject."  "The  poet 
having,  meanwhile,  had  a  difference  with 
that  lady,  he  disguised  the  song  by  chang- 
ing the  name  from  '  Maria '  to  Eliza,  and 
by  giving  it  a  new  opening  line,  with  direc- 
tions to  have  it  set  to  a  different  tune."  — 
William  Scott  Douglas.] 

I. 

Farewell,  thou  stream  that  winding 
flows 

Around  Eliza's  dwelling  ! 
O  Mem'ry,  spare  the  cruel  throes 

Within  my  bosom  swelling  : 
Condemn'd  to  drag  a  hopeless  chain 

And  yet  in  secret  languish, 
To  feel  a  fire  in  every  vein 

Nor  dare  disclose  my  anguish  ! 


II. 

Love's   veriest   wretch,    unseen,   un- 
known, 

I  fain  my  griefs  would  cover : 
The  bursting  sigh,  th'  unweeting  groan 

Betray  the  hapless  lover. 
I  know  thou  doom'st  me  to  despair, 

Nor  wilt,  nor  canst  relieve  me ; 
But,  O  Eliza,  hear  one  prayer  — 

For  pity's  sake  forgive  me  ! 

ni. 

The  music  of  thy  voice  I  heard. 

Nor  wist  while  it  enslav'd  me  ! 
I  saw  thine  eyes,  yet  nothing  feafd, 

Till  fears  no  more  had  sav'd  me  : 
Th'  unwary  sailor  thus,  aghast 

The  wheeling  torrent  viewing, 
"Mid  circling  horrors  sinks  at  last 

In  overwhelming  ruin. 


HAD   I   A   CAVE. 

["  That  crinkum-crankum  tune,  '  Robin 
Adair,'  has  run  so  in  my  head,  and  I  suc- 
ceeded so  ill  in  my  last  attempt  ["  Phillis 


3IO       HERE'S  A   HEALTH.  — HOW   CRUEL  ARE  THE   PARENTS. 


the  Fair,"  p.  34S],  that  I  ventured  in  my 
morning's  walk  one  essay  more."  (Burns 
to  Thomson,  August,  1793.)] 

I. 

Had  I  a  cave 

On  some  wild  distant  shore, 
Where  the  winds  howl 

To  the  wave's  dashing  roar, 
There  would  I  weep  my  woes, 
There  seek  my  lost  repose, 
Till  grief  my  eyes  should  close. 
Ne'er  to  wake  more  ! 

II. 

Falsest  of  womankind, 
Can'st  thou  declare 
All  thy  fond,  plighted  vows 
Fleeting  as  air? 

To  thy  new  lover  hie. 
Laugh  o'er  thy  perjury. 
Then  in  thy  bosom  try 
What  peace  is  there  ! 


HERE'S   A    HEALTH. 

[The  heroine,  Jessie  Lewars,  sister  of 
John  Lewars,  a  fellow-exciseman,  was  of 
great  service  to  the  Burns  household  during 
the  last  illness.  She  married  Mr.  James 
Thomson,  of  Dumfries,  and  died  May  26, 
I855-] 

Chorus. 

Here  's  a  health  to  ane  I  loe  dear  ! 
Here 's  a  health  to  ane  I  loe  dear  ! 
Thou   art   sweet   as  the  smile  when 
fond  lovers  meet, 
And  soft  as  their  parting  tear, 

Jessy  — 
And  soft  as  their  parting  tear  ! 

I. 

Altho'  thou  maun  never  be  mine, 
Altho'  even  hope  is  denied, 

'T  is  sweeter  for  thee  despairing 
Than  ought  in  the  world  beside, 

Jessy  — 
Than  ought  in  the  world  beside  ! 


II. 

I  mourn  thro'  the  gay,  gaudy  day, 

As  hopeless  I  muse  on  thy  charms  ; 
But   welcome    the    dream    o'   sweet 
slumber  ! 
For  then  I  am  lockt  in  thine  arms, 

Jessy  — 
For  then  I  am  lockt  in  thine  arms  ! 


Chorus. 

Here 's  a  health  to  ane  I  loe  dear  ! 
Here's  a  health  to  ane  I  loe  dear  ! 
Thou  art  sweet  as  the  smile   when 
fond  lovers  meet. 
And  soft  as  their  parting  tear, 

Jessy  — 
And  soft  as  their  parting  tear  ! 


HOW  CRUEL  ARE  THE 
PARENTS. 

["  A  song  altered  from  an  old  English 
one,"  (R.  B.)  found  in  several  London  pub- 
lications, 1733-1756.] 


How  cruel  are  the  parents 

Who  riches  only  prize. 
And  to  the  wealthy  booby 

Poor  Woman  sacrifice  ! 
Meanwhile  the  hapless  daughter 

Has  but  a  choice  of  strife  : 
To  shun  a  tyrant  father's  hate 

Become  a  wretched  wife  ! 


II. 

The  ravening  hawk  pursuing. 

The  trembling  dove  thus  flies 
To  shun  impending  ruin 

Awhile  her  pinion  tries, 
Till,  of  escape  despairing. 

No  shelter  or  retreat. 
She  trusts  the  ruthless  falconer. 

And  drops  beneath  his  feet. 


HUSBAND,    HUSBAND.  — IT   WAS   THE  CHARMING   MONTH.      311 


HUSBAND,    HUSBAND,   CEASE 
YOUR    STRIFE 

[Sent  to  Thomson,  December,  1793.] 

I. 

Husband,  husband,  cease  your  strife, 

Nor  longer  idly  rave,  sir  ! 
Tho'  I  am  your  wedded  wife, 

Yet  I  am  not  your  slave,  sir. 
'  One  of  two  must  still  obey, 

Nancy,  Nancy ! 
Is  it  Man  or  Woman,  say, 

My  spouse  Nancy  ? ' 


II. 

*  If 't  is  still  the  lordly  word, 

Service  and  obedience, 
I  '11  desert  my  sovereign  lord, 
And  so  goodby  allegiance  ! 

*  Sad  will  I  be  so  bereft, 

Nancy,  Nancy  ! 
Yet  1  '11  try  to  make  a  shift, 
My  spouse  Nancy  ! ' 

III. 

'  My  poor  heart,  then  break  it  must, 

My  last  hour  I  am  near  it : 
When  you  lay  me  in  the  dust. 

Think,  how  will  you  bear  it?' 
'  I  will  hope  and  trust  in  Heaven, 

Nancy,  Nancy  ! 
Strength  to  bear  it  will  be  given, 

My  spouse  Nancy.' 


IV. 

'  Well,  sir,  from  the  silent  dead, 

Still  I  '11  try  to  daunt  you  : 
Ever  round  your  midnight  bed 

Horrid  sprites  shall  haunt  you  ! ' 
*  I  '11  wed  another  like  my  dear 

Nancy,  Nancy  ! 
Then  all  Hell  will  fly  for  fear, 

My  spouse  Nancy  ! ' 


IT   WAS   THE   CHARMING 
MONTH. 

[Abridged  from  a  song  in  "  The  Tea- 
Table  Miscellany."  Burns  writes  to  Thom- 
son, November,  1794:  "You  may  think 
meanly  of  this ;  but  take  a  look  at  the  bom- 
bast original,  and  you  will  be  surprised  that 
I  have  made  so  much  of  it."] 


Chorus. 

Lovely  was  she  by  the  dawn, 

Youthful  Chloe,  charming  Chloe, 

Tripping  o'er  the  pearly  lawn, 
The  youthful,  charming  Chloe  ! 


I. 


It  was  the  charming  month  of  May, 
When  all  the  flow"rs  were  fresh  and 

One  morning,  by  the  break  of  day, 

The  youthful,  charming  Chloe, 

From  peaceful  slumber  she  arose. 

Girt  on  her  mantle  and  her  hose, 

And  o'er  the  flow'ry  mead  she  goes  — 

The  youthful,  charming  Chloe  ! 


II. 

The  featherd  people  you  might  see 
Perch'd  all  around  on  every  tree  ! 
With  notes  of  sweetest  melody 

They  hail  the  charming  Chloe, 
Till,  painting  gay  the  eastern  skies. 
The  glorious  sun  began  to  rise, 
Outrival'd  by  the  radiant  eyes 

Of  youthful,  charming  Chloe. 


Chorus. 

Lovely  was  she  by  the  dawn, 

Youthful  Chloe,  charming  Chloe, 

Tripping  o'er  the  pearly  lawn. 
The  youthful,  charming  Chloe  ! 


312 


LAST  MAY   A   BRAW   WOOER. 


LAST   MAY   A   BRAW  WOOER. 

[Sent  to  Thomson,  July  3,  1795.  A 
corrupt  set  was  published  in  Johnson's 
"  Museum,"  1803.] 

I. 

Last  May  a  braw  wooer  cam  down 
the  lang  glen, 
And  sair  wi'  his  love  he  did  deave 
me. 
I  said  there   was   naething   I    hated 
like  men : 
The  deuce  gae  wi  'm  to  believe  me, 

believe  me  — 
The  deuce  gae  wi  'm  to  believe  me  ! 


II. 

He  spak  o'  the  darts  in   my   bonie 
black  een, 
And  vow'd   for   my   love   he   was 
diein. 
I  said,  he  might  die  when  he  liket  for 
Jean: 
The  Lord  forgie  me  for  liein,  for 

liein  — 
The  Lord  forgie  me  for  liein  ! 

III. 

A  weel-stocket  mailen,  himsel  for  the 
laird, 
And    marriage    aflf-hand   were   his 
proffers  : 
I  never  loot  on  that  I  kenn'd  it,  or 
car'd, 
But    thought    I    might    hae   waur 

offers,  waur  offers  — 
But    thought    I    might    hae  waur 
offers. 

IV. 

But  what  wad  ye  think  ?     In  a  fort- 
night or  less 
(The  Deil  tak  his  taste  to  gae  near 
her!) 

He   up   the  Gate-Slack  to  my  black 
cousin,  Bess  ! 


Guess  ye  how,  the  jad  !  I  could 
bear  her,  could  bear  her  — 

Guess  ye  how,  the  jad  !  I  could 
bear  her. 


V. 

But  a'  the  niest  week,  as  I  petted  wi' 

care, 

I  gaed  to  the  tryste  o'  Dalgarnock, 

And  wha  but  my  fine  fickle  lover  was 

there? 

I  glowr'd  as  I  'd  seen  a  warlock,  a 

warlock  — 
I  glowr'd  as  I  'd  seen  a  warlock. 


VI. 

But  owre  my  left  shouther  I  gae  him 
a  blink. 
Lest    neebours    might    say  I   was 
saucy. 
My  wooer  he  caper'd  as  he  'd  been  in 
drink, 
And  vow'd  I  was  his  dear  lassie, 

dear  lassie  — 
And  vow'd  I  was  his  dear  lassie  ! 


VII. 

I  spier'd  for  my  cousin  fu'  couthy  and 
sweet : 
Gin  she  had  recovered  her  hearin  ? 
And  how  her  new  shoon  fit  her  auld, 
shachPd  feet  ? 
But  heavens  !  how  he  fell  a  swearin, 

a  swearin  — 
But  heavens  !  how  he  fell  a  swearin  ! 


VIII. 

He  begged,  for  gudesake,  I  wad  be 
his  wife. 
Or  else  I  wad  kill  him  wi'  sorrow ; 
So  e'en  to  preserve  the  poor  body  in 
hfe, 
I  think  I  maun  wed  him  to-morrow, 

to-morrow  — 
I  think  I  maun  wed  him  to-morrow ! 


MY  NANIE'S   AWA.  — NOW   ROSY   MAY. 


3^3 


MY  NANIE'S   AWA. 

[Sent  to  Thomson,  December  9,  1794. 
"  ^Irs.  MacLehose  was  one  of  Burns's 
Nanies  or  Nancies.  The  Hnes  may  or 
may  not  refer  to  her."  —  ANDREW  Lang.] 


I. 


green  mantle 


blythe 


Now  in    her 

Nature  arrays, 
And  listens  the  lambkins  that  bleat 

o'er  the  braes, 
While  birds  warble  welcomes  in  ilka 

green  shaw, 
But    to     me    it 's    delightless  —  my 

Nanie  's  awa. 


n. 

The    snawdrap    and    primrose    our 

woodlands  adorn, 
And  violets  bathe  in  the  weet  o'  the 

morn. 
They  pain  my  sad  bosom,  sae  sweetly 

they  blaw : 
They    mind     me    o'     Nanie  —  and 

Nanie 's  awa ! 


ni. 

Thou  lav'rock,  that  springs  frae  the 
dews  of  the  lawn 

The  shepherd  to  warn  o'  the  grey- 
breaking  dawn, 

And  thou  mellow  mavis,  that  hails 
the  night-fa\ 

Give  over  for  pity  —  my  Nanie 's  awa. 


IV. 

Com.e  Autumn,  sae  pensive  in  yellow 
and  grey. 

And  soothe  me  wi'  tidings  o'  Nature's 
decay  ! 

The  dark,  dreary  Winter  and  wild- 
driving  snaw 

Alane  can  delight  me  —  now  Nanie  's 
awa. 


NOW   ROSY   MAY. 

["  The  words  '  Dainty  Davie  '  glide  so 
sweetly  in  the  air,  that  to  a  Scots  ear,  anv 
song  to  if,  without  Davie  being  the  hero, 
would  have  a  lame  effect."  (R.  B.  to 
Thomson,  August,  1793.)] 


Chorus. 

Meet  me  on  the  Warlock  Knowe, 
Dainty  Davie,  Dainty  Davie  ! 

There  I  "11  spend  the  day  wi'  you, 
My  ain  dear  Dainty  Davie. 


I. 

Now  rosy  May  comes  in  wi"  flowers 
To    deck   her    gay,   green-spreading 

bowers ; 
And  now  comes  in  the  happy  hours 
To  wander  wi'  my  Davie. 

II. 

The  crystal  waters  round  us  fa', 
The  merry  birds  are  lovers  a', 
The  scented  breezes  round  us  blaw,. 
A  wandering  wi  my  Davie. 

III. 

When  purple  morning  starts  the  hare 
To  steal  upon  her  early  fare. 
Then  thro'  the  dews  I  will  repair 
To  meet  my  faithfu'  Davie. 

IV. 

When  day,  expiring  in  the  west, 
The  curtain  draws  o"  Nature's  rest, 
I  flee  to  his  arms  I  loe  the  best : 
And  that 's  my  ain  dear  Davie  ! 

Chorus. 

Meet  me  on  the  Warlock  Knowe, 
Dainty  Davie,  Dainty  Davie  ! 

There  I  11  spend  the  day  wi'  you, 
My  ain  dear  Dainty  Davie. 


314      NOW  SPRING   HAS   CLAD.  — O,  THIS   IS   NO   MY   AIN   LASSIE. 


NOW    SPRING   HAS    CLAD. 

[Inscribed  to  Allan   Cunningham,  and 
dated  Aug.  3,  1795.] 


Now  spring  has  clad   the   grove  in 
green, 

And  strewM  the  lea  wi'  flowers  ; 
The  furrowM,  waving  corn  is  seen 

Rejoice  in  fostering  showers  ; 
While  ilka  thing  in  nature  join 

Their  sorrows  to  forego, 
O,  why  thus  all  alone  are  mine 

The  weary  steps  o'  woe  ! 

II. 

The  trout  within  yon  wimpling  burn 

Glides  swift,  a  silver  dart. 
And,  safe  beneath  the  shady  thorn, 

Defies  the  angler's  art : 
My  life  was  ance  that  careless  stream, 

That  wanton  trout  was  I, 
But  Love  wi'  unrelenting  beam 
'    Has  scorch'd  my  fountains  dry. 

III. 

The  little  floweret's  peaceful  lot, 

In  yonder  cliif  that  grows. 
Which,  save  the  linnet's  flight,  I  wot, 

Nae  ruder  visit  knows. 
Was  mine,  till  Love  has  o'er  me  past, 

And  blighted  a'  my  bloom ; 
And  now  beneath  the  withering  blast 

My  youth  and  joy  consume. 

IV. 

The     waken'd      lav'rock      warbling 
springs. 

And  climbs  the  early  sk)^. 
Winnowing  blythe  his  dewy  wings 

In  Morning's  rosy  eye  : 
As  little  reck't  I  Sorrow's  power. 

Until  the  flowery  snare 
O'  witching  Love  in  luckless  hour 

Made  me  the  thrall  o'  care  ! 


V. 

O,  had  my  fate  been  Greenland  snows 

Or  Afric's  burning  zone, 
Wi'  Man  and  Nature  leagu'd  my  foes, 

So  Peggy  ne'er  I  'd  known  ! 
The  wretch,  whose  doom  is  '  hope  nae 
mair,' 

What  tongue  his  woes  can  tell. 
Within  whose  bosom,  save  Despair, 

Nae  kinder  spirits  dwell  ! 


O,  THIS  IS  NO  MY  AIN  LASSIE. 

["  '  This  is  No  My  Ain  House,'  puzzles 
me  a  good  deal ;  in  fact,  I  think  to  change 
the  old  rhythm  of  the  first,  or  chorus  part 
of  the  tune,  will  have  a  good  effect.  I 
would  have  it  something  like  the  gallop  of 
the  following."  (Burns  to  Thomson,  June, 
1795-)] 

Chorus. 

O,  this  is  no  my  ain  lassie. 
Fair  tho'  the  lassie  be  : 

Weel  ken  I  my  ain  lassie  — 
Kind  love  is  in  her  e'e. 


I  SEE  a  form,  I  see  a  face, 
Ye  weel  may  wi'  the  fairest  place  : 
It  wants  to  me  the  witching  grace. 
The  kind  love  that's  in  her  e'e. 


II. 

She 's  bonie,  blooming,  straight,  and 

tall, 
And  lang  has  had  my  heart  in  thrall ; 
And  ay  it  charms  my  very  saul. 
The  kind  love  that's  in  the  e'e. 


III. 

A  thief  sae  pawkie  is  my  Jean, 
To  steal  a  blink  by  a'  unseen  ! 
But  gleg  as  light  are  lover's  een, 
When  kind  love  is  in  the  e'e. 


C,   WHAT  YE   WHA  THAT   LO'ES    ME.  — SCOTS,   WHA   HAE.      315 


IV. 

It  may  escape  the  courtly  sparks, 
It  may  escape  the  learned  clerks ; 
But  well  the  watching  lover  marks 
The  kind  love  that 's  in  her  e'e. 

Chorus. 

O,  this  is  no  my  ain  lassie, 
Fair  tho'  the  lassie  be : 

Weel  ken  I  my  ain  lassie  — 
Kind  love  is  in  her  e'e. 


O,  WAT   YE  WHA  THAT 
LO^ES   ME. 

[Sent  to  Mr.  Cleghorn,  in  January,  1796, 
after  an  illness  of  the  poet's.] 

Chorus. 

O,  that 's  the  lassie  o'  my  heart, 

My  lassie  ever  dearer  ! 
O,  that 's  the  queen  o'  womankind. 

And  ne'er  a  ane  to  peer  her  ! 


I. 

O,  WAT  ye  wha  that  lo'es  me, 
And  has  my  heart  a  keeping? 

O,  sweet  is  she  that  lo'es  me 
As  dews  o'  summer  weeping. 
In  tears  the  rosebuds  steeping  ! 


II. 

If  thou  shalt  meet  a  lassie 

In  grace  and  beauty  charming, 

That  e'en  thy  chosen  lassie, 

Erewhile  thy  breast  sae  warming, 
Had  ne'er  sic  powers  alarming  :  — 

III. 

If  thou  hadst  heard  her  talking 

(And  thy  attention's  plighted). 
That  ilka  body  talking 


But  her  by  thee  is  slighted. 
And  thou  art  all-delighted  :  — 


IV. 

If  thou  hast  met  this  fair  one. 
When  frae  her  thou  hast  parted, 

If  every  other  fair  one 

But  her  thou  hast  deserted. 
And  thou  art  broken-hearted  :  — 

C/iorus. 

O,  that 's  the  lassie  o'  my  heart. 

My  lassie  ever  dearer  ! 
O,  that 's  the  queen  o'  womankind, 

And  ne'er  a  ane  to  peer  her  ! 


SCOTS,   WHA   HAE. 

[Varying  accounts  are  given  of  the  time 
and  circumstances  of  the  origin  of  this  song. 
John  Syme  connects  it  with  a  tour  with 
Burns  in  Galloway  in  July,  1793 :  "  I  told 
you  that  in  the  midst  of  the  storm  on  the 
wilds  of  Kenmure,  Burns  was  rapt  in  medi- 
tation. What  do  you  think  he  was  about? 
He  was  charging  the  English  army  along 
with  Bruce  at  Bannockburn.  He  was  en- 
gaged in  the  same  manner  on  our  ride  from 
St.  Mary's  Isle,  and  I  did  not  disturb  him. 
Next  day  he  produced  me  the  following 
address  of  Bruce  to  his  troops,  and  gave 
me  a  copy  for  Dalzell."  Burns  tells  a  dif- 
ferent tale.  After  some  remarks  to  Thomson 
(Aug.  or  Sept.,  1793)  on  the  old  air  "  Hey 
Tutti  Taiti,"  and  on  the  tradition  that  "  it 
was  Robert  Bruce's  march  at  the  battle^  of 
Bannockburn,"  he  introduces  "  Scots  Wha 
Hae  :  "  "  This  thought,  in  my  yesternight's 
evening  walk,  roused  me  to  a  pitch  of  en- 
thusiasm on  the  theme  of  liberty  and  inde- 
pendence, which  I  threw  into  a  kind  of 
Scots  ode,  fitted  to  the  air,  that  one  might 
suppose  to  be  the  gallant  royal  Scot's  ad- 
dress to  his  heroic  followers  on  that  event- 
ful morning."  The  two  statements  are 
irreconcilable ;  and  we  must  conclude  either 
that  Svme  misdated  the  tour,  and  that  the 
"  yesternight  "  of  Burns  was  the  night  of  his 
return  to  Dumfries,  or  that  Burns  did  not 
give  Syme  a  copy  until  some  time  after  his 
return,  and  that,  like  some  other  circum- 


3i6 


THEIR   GROVES   O'    SWEET   MYRTLE.  — THINE  AM   I. 


stances  he  was  pleased  to  father,  his  "  yes- 
ternight's evening  walk  "  need  not  be  literally 
interpreted.] 

I. 

Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled, 
Scots,  wham  Bruce  has  aften  led, 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed 
Or  to  victorie ! 


II. 

Now  's  the  day,  and  now 's  the  hour : 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lour, 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power — 
Chains  and  slaverie  ! 

III. 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave  ? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave  ?  — 

Let  him  turn,  and  flee  ! 


IV. 

Wha  for  Scotland's  King  and  Law 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw. 
Freeman  stand  or  freeman  fa', 
Let  him  follow  me  ! 


V. 

By  Oppression's  woes  and  pains, 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains, 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins 

But  they  shall  be  free  ! 

VI. 

Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low  ! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe  ! 
Liberty's  in  every  blow  ! 

Let  us  do,  or  die  ! 


THEIR   GROVES    O'    SWEET 
MYRTLE. 

["  The  Irish  air, '  Humours  of  Glen,'  is  a 
great  favorite  of  mine ;  and  as,  except  the 
silly  verses  in  '  The  Poor  Soldier,'  there  are 


not  any  decent  words  for  it,  I  have  written 
for  it  as  follows."  (Burns  to  Thomson, 
April,  1795.)] 

I. 

Their  groves   o'  sweet    myrtle    let 
foreign  lands  reckon. 
Where    bright -beaming    summers 
exalt  the  perfume  ! 
Far  dearer  to  me   yon  lone  glen  o' 
green  breckan, 
Wi'  the  burn  stealing   under   the' 
lang,  yellow  broom  ; 
Far  dearer  to   me   are   yon   humble 
broom  bowers. 
Where  the  blue-bell  and  gowan  lurk 
lowly,  unseen ; 
For  there,  lightly  tripping  among  the 
wild  flowers, 
A-list'ning  the  linnet,  aft  wanders 
my  Jean. 

II. 

Tho'  rich  is  the  breeze  in  their  gay, 
sunny  vallies, 
And  cauld  Caledonia's  blast  on  the 
wave, 
Their  sweet-scented  woodlands  that 
skirt  the  proud  palace, 
What  are  they  ?  —  The  haunt  of  the 
tyrant  and  slave  ! 
The   slave's  spicy  forests  and  gold- 
bubbling  fountains 
The   brave    Caledonian   views   wi' 
disdain : 
He  wanders  as  free  as  the  winds  of 
his  mountains. 
Save   Love's   willing    fetters  —  the 
chains  o'  his  Jean. 


THINE   AM    I. 

[Intended  as  English  words  to  "  The 
Quaker's  Wife."  Burns  afterwards  intro- 
duced "  Chloris  "  into  the  song.J 


Thine  am  I,  my  faithful  Fair, 
Thine  my  lovely  Nancy  ! 


THOU   HAST   LEFT  ME   EVER,   JAMIE. —  HIGHLAND    MARY.       317 


Ev'ry  pulse  along  my  veins, 

Ev'iy  roving  fancy  ! 
To  thy  bosom  lay  my  heart 

There  to  throb  and  languish. 
Tho'  despair  had  wrung  its  core, 

That  would  heal  its  anguish. 

II. 

Take  away  tliose  rosy  lips 

Rich  with  balmy  treasure  ! 
Turn  away  thine  eyes  of  love, 

Lest  I  die  with  pleasure  ! 
What  is  life  when  wanting  love? 

Night  without  a  morning  ! 
Love  the  cloudless  summer's  sun, 

Nature  gay  adorning. 


THOU   HAST   LEFT  ME  EVER, 
JAMIE. 

["  I  do  not  give  these  verses  for  any 
merit  they  have.  I  composed  them  at  the 
time  in  which  '  Patie  Allan's  mither  de'ed' 
—  that  was  '  about  the  back  o'  midnight '  — 
and  by  the  leeside  of  a  bowl  of  punch,  which 
had  overset  every  mortal  in  company  except 
the  Hautbois  and  the  Muse."  (Burns  to 
Thomson,  September,  1793.)] 

I. 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever  ! 
Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever  ! 
Aften  hast  thou  vow'd  that  Death 

Only  should  us  sever ; 
Now  thou  'st  left  thy  lass  for  ay  — 

I  maun  see  thee  never,  Jamie, 

1 11  see  thee  never  ! 


n. 

Thou  hast  me  forsaken,  Jamie, 
Thou  hast  me  forsaken  ! 

Thou  hast  me  forsaken,  Jamie, 
Thou  hast  me  forsaken  ! 

Thou  canst  love  another  jo. 
While  my  heart  is  breaking. 


Soon  my  weary  een  I  '11  close. 
Never  mair  to  waken,  Jamie, 
Never  mair  to  waken  ! 


HIGHLAND   MARY. 

["The  foregoing  song  pleases  myself;  I 
think  it  is  in  my  happiest  manner;  you  will 
see  at  first  glance  that  it  suits  the  air.  The 
subject  of  the  song  is  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting passages  of  my  youthful  days  ;  and  I 
own  that  I  would  be  much  flattered  to  see 
the  verses  set  to  an  air  which  would  ensure 
celebrity.  Perhaps,  after  all,  't  is  the  still 
glowing  prejudice  of  my  heart  that  throws 
a  borrowed  lustre  over  the  merits  of  the 
composition."  (Burns  to  Thomson,  Nov. 
14,  1792.)] 

I. 

Ye   banks   and   braes    and    streams 
around 

The  castle  o'  Montgomery, 
Green  be  your  woods,  and  fair  your 
flowers. 

Your  waters  never  drumlie  ! 
There  Summer  first  unfald  her  robes. 

And  there  the  langest  tarry  ! 
For  there  I  took  the  last  fareweel 

O'  my  sweet  Highland  Mary  ! 

II. 

How  sweetlv  bloom'd  the  gay,  green 
birk,     '  / 

How  rich  the  hawthorn's  blossom. 
As  underneath  their  fragrant  shade    ; 

I  clasp'd  her  to  my  bosom  ! 
The  golden  hours  on  angel  wings 

Flew  o'er  me  and  my  dearie  : 
For  dear  to  me  as  light  and  life 

Was  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

III. 

Wi'  monie  a  vow  and  lock'd  embrace 
Our  parting  was  fu'  tender ; 

And,  pledging  aft  to  meet  again. 
We  tore  oursels  asunder. 

But  O,  fell  Death's  untimely  frost. 
That  nipt  my  flower  sae  early  ! 


3i8      MY   CHLORIS,  MARK.  —  FAIREST    MAID   ON   DEVON   BANKS. 


Now  green's  the  sod,  and  cauld's  the 
clay, 
That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary  ! 

IV. 

O,  pale,  pale  now,  those  rosy  lips 

I  aft  hae  kiss'd  sae  fondly ; 
And    closed    for    ay,    the     sparkling 
glance 

That  dwalt  on  me  sae  kindly ; 
And  mouldering  now  in  silent  dust 

That  heart  that  lo'ed  me  dearly  ! 
But  still  within  my  bosom's  core 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary. 


MY  CHLORIS,  MARK. 

["  On  my  visit  the  other  day  to  my  fair 
Chloris  (that  is  the  poetic  name  of  the  lovely 
goddess  of  my  inspiration)  she  suggested 
an  idea  w^hich  on  my  return  from  the  visit  I 
wrought  into  the  following  song."  (Burns 
to  Thomson,  November,  1794.)] 


My   Chloris,   mark    how   green    the 
groves, 

The  primrose  banks  how  fair  ! 
The  balmy  gales  awake  the  flowers, 

And  wave  thy  flaxen  hair. 

II. 

The  lav'rock  shuns  the  palace  gay, 
And  o'er  the  cottage  sings  : 

For  Nature  smiles  as  sweet,  I  ween, 
To  shepherds  as  to  kings. 

III. 

Let  minstrels  sweep  the  skilfu'  string 

In  lordly,  lighted  ha' : 
The  shepherd  stops  his  simple  reed, 

Blythe  in  the  birken  shaw. 

IV. 

The  princely  revel  may  survey 
Our  rustic  dance  wi'  scorn  ; 

But  are  their  hearts  as  light  as  ours 
Beneath  the  milk-white  thorn? 


V. 

The  shepherd  in  the  flowery  glen 
In  shepherd's  phrase  will  woo: 

The  courtier  tells  a  finer  tale  — 
But  is  his  heart  as  true? 

VI. 

Here  wild-wood  flowers  I  've  pu'd,  to 
deck 
That  spotless  breast  o'  thine : 
The    courtier's    gems    may    witness 
love  — 
But  't  is  na  love  like  mine  ! 


FAIREST   MAID   ON   DEVON 
BANKS. 

[Burns's  last  song.  "  I  tried  my  hand  on 
'  Rothiemurchie  '  this  morning.  The  meas- 
ure is  so  difficult  that  it  is  impossible  to 
infuse  much  genius  into  the  lines."  (Burns 
to  Thomson,  July  12,  1796.)] 

Chorus. 

Fairest  maid  on  Devon  banks. 
Crystal  Devon,  winding  Devon, 

Wilt  thou  lay  that  frown  aside, 
And  smile  as  thou  wert  wont  to  do  ? 


Full  well  thou  know'st  I  love  thee 

dear  — 
Couldst  thou  to  malice  lend  an  ear! 
O,  did  not  Love  exclaim  — '  Forbear, 
Nor  use  a  faithful  lover  so  ! ' 

II. 
Then  come,  thou  fairest  of  the  fair, 
Those  wonted  smiles,  O,  let  me  share, 
And  by  thy  beauteous  self  I  swear 
No  love  but  thine  my  heart  shall 
know  ! 

Chorus. 

Fairest  maid  on  Devon  banks. 
Crystal  Devon,  winding  Devon, 

Wilt  thou  lay  that  frown  aside. 
And  smile  as  thou  wert  wont  to  do  i 


LONG,   LONG  THE  NIGHT. 


319 


LASSIE  Wr  THE  LINT-WHITE 
LOCKS. 

[The  "  Chloris,"  who  did  duty  as  Burns's 
Muse  for  some  time  after  his  break  with 
Maria  Riddell,  was  the  daughter  of  William 
Lorimer.  She  was  unfortunate  in  her 
married  relations,  and  her  misfortunes  so 
touched  the  poet  that  he  became  exceed- 
ingly enamoured  of  her.] 

Chortis. 

Lassie  wi^  the  lint-white  locks, 
Bonie  lassie,  artless  lassie. 

Wilt  thou  wi'  me  tent  the  flocks  — 
Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie,  O  ? 


Now  Nature  deeds  the  flower)-  lea, 
And  a''  is  young  and  sweet  like  thee, 
O,  wilt  thou  share  its  joys  w^i'  me, 
And  say  thou  It  be  my  dearie,  O  ? 

II. 

The    primrose    bank,    the   wimpling 

burn, 
The  cuckoo  on  the  milk-white  thorn, 
The  wanton  lambs  at  early  morn 
Shall  welcome  thee,  my  dearie,  O. 

III. 

And     when     the    welcome    simmer 

shower 
Has  cheer'd  ilk  drooping  little  flower, 
We  '11    to    the   breathing  woodbine- 
bower 
At  sultry  noon,  my  dearie,  O. 


IV. 


When  Cynthia  lights  wi'  silver  ray 
The  weary  shearer's  hameward  way, 
Thro'  yellow  waving  fields  we  '11  stray. 
And  talk  o'  love,  my  dearie,  O. 


V. 


And  when  the  howling  wintry  blast 
Disturbs  my  lassie's  midnight  rest. 


Enclasped  to  my  faithfu'  breast, 
I  '11  comfort  thee,  my  dearie,  O. 

Chorus. 

Lassie  wi'  the  lint-white  locks, 
Bonie  lassie,  artless  lassie. 

Wilt  thou  wi'  me  tent  the  flocks  ■ 
Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie,  O  ? 


LONG,   LONG   THE   NIGHT. 

[A  song  on  Chloris  Being  111.  "  It 
appears  that  Mrs.  Burns  was  not  jealous 
of  Chloris.  A  letter  of  Burns's  avers  that 
she  asked  Chloris  to  dinner." — ANDREW 
Lang.] 

CJionis. 

Long,  long  the  night. 

Heavy  comes  the  morrow, 

While  my  soul's  delight 
Is  on  her  bed  of  sorrow. 

I. 

Can  I  cease  to  care. 

Can  I  cease  to  languish, 

While  my  darling  fair 

Is  on  the  couch  of  anguish  ! 

II. 

Ev'ry  hope  is  fled, 

Ev'ry  fear  is  terror : 
Slumber  e'en  I  dread, 

Ev'ry  dream  is  horror. 

III. 

Hear  me.  Powers  Divine  : 

O,  in  pity,  hear  me  ! 
Take  aught  else  of  mine, 

But  my  Chloris  spare  me  ! 

Chorus. 

Long,  long  the  night, 

Heavy  comes  the  morrow, 

While  my  soul's  delight 
Is  on  her  bed  of  sorrow. 


320 


LOGAN   WATER.  — YON   ROSY   BRIER. 


LOGAN  WATER. 

[The  refrain  of  an  old  ballad.  Burns 
says  :  "  If  I  have  done  anything  like  justice 
to  my  feelings,  the  following  song,  com- 
posed in  three-quarters  of  an  hour's  lucu- 
brations in  my  elbow-chair,  ought  to  have 
some  merit."] 

I. 

O  Logan,  sweetly  didst  thou  glide 
That  day  I  was  my  Willie's  bride, 
And  years  sin  syne  hae  o'er  us  run 
Like  Logan  to  the  simmer  sun. 
But  now  thy  flowery  banks  appear 
Like  drumlie  winter,  dark  and  drear, 
While   my  dear  lad   maun   face   his 

faes 
Far,  far  frae  me  and  Logan  braes. 

II. 

Again  the  merry  month  of  May 
Has  made  our  hills  and  vallies  gay ; 
The  birds  rejoice  in  leafy  bowers. 
The  bees  hum  round  the  breathing 

flowers ; 
Blythe  Morning  lifts  his  rosy  eye. 
And  Evening's  tears  are  tears  o'  joy : 
My  soul  delightless  a'  surveys. 
While  Willie's  far  frae  Logan  braes. 

III. 

Within    yon     milk-white     hawthorn 

bush, 
Amang  her  nestlings  sits  the  thrush : 
Her  faithfu'  mate  will  share  her  toil. 
Or  wi'  his  song  her  cares  beguile. 
But  I  wi'  my  sweet  nurslings  here, 
Nae  mate  to  help,  nae  mate  to  cheer. 
Pass  widow'd  nights  and  joyless  days. 
While  WilHe  's  far  frae  Logan  braes. 

IV. 

• 

O,  wae  upon  you.  Men  o'  State, 
That  brethren  rouse  in  deadly  hate  ! 
As    ye    make    monie   a    fond    heart 

mourn, 
Sae  may  it  on  your  heads  return  ! 


Ye  mindna  'mid  your  cruel  joys 
The  widow's  tears,  the  orphan's  cries  ; 
But   soon    may   peace    bring   happy 

days, 
And  Willie  hame  to  Logan  braes  ! 


YON    ROSY   BRIER. 

[Sent  to  Thomson  in  August,  1795.] 


O,  BONIE  was  yon  rosy  brier 

That  blooms  sae  far  frae  haunt  o' 
man, 

And  bonie  she  —  and  ah,  how  dear  !  — 
It  shaded  frae  the  e'enin  sun  ! 


II. 

Yon  rosebuds  in  the  morning  dew, 
How   pure   among   the   leaves  sae 
green  ! 
But  purer  was  the  lover's  vow, 

They  witnessed  in  their  shade  yes- 
treen. 

III. 

All  in  its  rude  and  prickly  bower, 
That  crimson  rose  how  sweet  and 
fair  ! 

But  love  is  far  a  sweeter  flower 
Amid  life's  thorny  path  o'  care. 


IV. 

The  pathless  wild  and  wimpling  burn, 
Wi'  Chloris  in  my  arms,  be  mine, 

And  1  the  warld  nor  wish  nor  scorn. — 
Its  joys  and  griefs  alike  resign  ! 


WHERE   ARE  THE  JOYS. 

["  '  Saw  Ye  My  Father  ?  '  is  one  of  mj 
greatest  favorites.  The  evening  before  las- 
I  wandered  out,  and  began  a  tender  song 


BEHOLD  THE  HOUR.  —  FORLORN  MY  LOVE. 


321 


in  what  1  think  is  its  native  style."     (Burns 
to  Thomson,  September,  1793.)] 


I. 

Where  are  the  joys  I   hae  met  in 
the  mornin<;, 
That   danc'd    to    the    lark's   early 
sang  ? 
Where  is  the  peace  that  awaited  my 
wandering 
At  evening  the  wild-woods  amang  ? 


n. 


Nae   mair  a-winding  the   course   o' 
yon  river 
And  marking  sweet  flowerets  sae 
fair, 
Nae  mair  I  trace  the  light  footsteps 
o'  Pleasure, 
But  Sorrow  and  sad-sighing  Care. 


III. 

Is   it   that   Summer's    forsaken    our 

vallies, 

And  grim,  surly  Winter  is  near? 

No,  no,  the  bees  humming  round  the 

gay  roses 

Proclaim  it  the  pride  0'  the  year. 

IV. 

Fain  wad  I  hide  what  I  fear  to  dis- 
cover. 
Yet    lang,   lang,    too    well    hae    I 
known : 
A'  that  has  caused  the  wreck  in  my 
bosom 
Is  Jenny,  fair  Jenny  alone  ! 


V. 

Time  cannot  aid  me,  my  griefs  are 

immortal, 

Not  Hope  dare  a  comfort  bestow. 

Come  then,  enamored  and  fond  of  my 

anguish, 

Enjoyment  I  '11  seek  in  my  woe  ! 

y 


BEHOLD   THE    HOUR. 

["  The  following  song  I  have  composed 
for  'Oran  Gaoil,'  the  Highland  air  that  you 
tell  me  in  your  last  you  have  resolved  to 
give  a  place  in  your  book.  I  have  this 
moment  finished  the  song,  so  you  have  it 
glowing  from  the  mint.  It  it  suit  you,  well ! 
if  not,  't  is  also  well !  "  (Bums  to  Thomson, 
September,  1793.)] 


Behold  the  hour,  the  boat  arrive  ! 
Thou    goest,    the    darling   of    my 
heart  ! 
Sever'd  from  thee,  can  I  survive? 
But   Fate  has  wiird  and  we  must 
part. 
I  '11  often  greet  the  surging  swell. 

Yon  distant  isle  will  often  hail :  — 
'  E'en  here  I  took  the  last  farewell ; 
There,  latest  mark'd  her  vanish'd 
sail.' 

II. 

Along  the  solitary  shore. 

While  flitting  sea-fowl  round   me 
cry. 
Across  the  rolling,  dashing  roar, 

I  '11  westward  turn  my  wistful  eye  :  — 

'Happy,  thou  Indian  grove,'  I  '11  say, 

•  Where  now  mv  Nancy's  path  may 

be! 

While  thro'  thy  sweets  she  loves  to 

stray, 

O,  tell  me,  does  she  muse  on  me  ? ' 


FORLORN   MY   LOVE. 

["  How  do  you  like  the  foregoing  ?  I 
have  written  it  within  this  hour;  so  much 
for  the  speed  of  my  Pegasus,  but  what  say 
you  to  his  bottom?  "  (Burns  to  Thomson, 
May,  1795-)] 

C/iorus. 

O,  wert  thou,  love,  but  near  me, 
But  near,  near,  near  me. 
How  kindly  thou  would  cheer  me, 
And  mingle  sighs  with  mine,  love  ! 


322 


CA'   THE  YOWES.  — HOW   CAN   MY  POOR   HEART. 


I. 

Forlorn  my  love,  no  comfort  near, 
Far,  far  from  thee  I  wander  here  ; 
Far,  far  from  thee,  the  fate  severe, 
At  which  I  most  repine,  love. 


II. 


Around  me  scowls  a  wintry  sky, 
Blasting  each  bud  of  hope  and  joy, 
And  shelter,  shade,  nor  home  have  I 
Save  in  these  arms  of  thine,  love. 


III. 


Cold  altered  friendship's  cruel  part. 
To  poison  Fortune's  ruthless  dart  ! 
Let  me  not  break  thy  faithful  heart, 
And  say  that  fate  is  mine,  love! 


IV. 

But,  dreary  tho'  the  moments  fleet, 
O,  let  me  think  we  yet  shall  meet  ! 
That  only  ray  of  solace  sweet 
Can  on  thy  Chloris  shine,  love! 

Chorus. 

O,  wert  thou,  love,  but  near  me, 
But  near,  near,  near  me. 
How  kindly  thou  would  cheer  me. 
And  mingle  sighs  with  mine,  love! 


CA'  THE   YOWES  TO   THE 
KNOWES. 

SECOND   SET. 

[The  chorus  from  an  older  song.     (See 
P-  245-)] 

Chorus. 

Ca'  the  yowes  to  the  knowes, 
Ca'  them  where  the  heather  grows, 
Ca'  them  where  the  burnie  rowes, 
My  bonie  dearie. 


Hark,  the  mavis'  e'ening  sang 
Sounding  Clouden's  woods  amang 
Then  a-faulding  let  us  gang, 
JVIy  bonie  dearie. 


II. 


We  11  gae  down  by  Clouden  side, 
Thro'  the  hazels,  spreading  wide 
O'er  the  waves  that  sweetly  glide 
To  the  moon  sae  clearly. 


III. 


Yonder  Clouden's  silent  towers 
Where,     at     moonshine's     midnight 

hours, 
O'er  the  dewy  bending  flowers 
Fairies  dance  sae  cheery. 

IV. 

Ghaist  nor  bogle  shalt  thou  fear  — 
Thou  'rt  to  Love  and  Heav'n  sae  dear 
Nocht  of  ill  may  come  thee  near, 
My  bonie  dearie. 

Chorus. 

Ca'  the  yowes  to  the  knowes, 
Ca'  them  where  the  heather  grows, 
Ca'  them  where  the  burnie  rowes. 
My  bonie  dearie. 


HOW  CAN   MY  POOR   HEART. 

[Thomson  did  not  think  this  one  of 
Burns's  "  happiest  productions,"  and  told 
him  so.  To  which  Burns  replied :  "  Mak- 
ing a  poem  is  like  begetting  a  son ;  you 
cannot  know  whether  you  have  a  wise  man 
or  a  fool,  until  you  produce  him  to  the  world 
and  try  him."] 


How  can  my  poor  heart  be  glad 
When  absent  from  my  sailor  lad? 
How  can  I  the  thought  forego  — 
He 's  on  the  seas  to  meet  the  foe? 
Let  me  wander,  let  me  rove. 
Still  my  heart  is  with  my  love. 


IS  THERE   FOR   HONEST  POVERTY. 


323 


Nightly  dreams  and  thoughts  by  day 
Are  with  him  that 's  far  away. 
On  tlie  seas  and  far  away, 
On  stormy  seas  and  far  away  — 
Nightly  dreams   and   thoughts   by 

day, 
Are  ay  with  him  that 's  far  away. 


II. 

When  in  summer  noon  I  faint, 
As  weary  flocks  around  me  pant, 
Haply  in  this  scorching  sun 
My  sailor's  thundering  at  his  gun. 
Bullets,  spare  my  only  joy  ! 
Bullets,  spare  my  darling  boy  ! 
Fate,  do  with  me  what  you  may. 
Spare  but  him  that 's  far  away  ! 
On  the  seas  and  far  away. 
On  stormy  seas  and  far  away  — 
Fate,  do  with  me  what  you  may. 
Spare  but  him  that 's  far  away  ! 


III. 

At  the  starless,  midnight  hour 
When  Winter  rules  with   boundless 

power. 
As  the  storms  the  forests  tear. 
And  thunders  rend  the  howling  air, 
Listening  to  the  doubling  roar 
Surging  on  the  rocky  shore, 
All  I  can  —  I  weep  and  pray 
For  his  weal  that 's  far  away. 
On  the  seas  and  far  away. 
On  stormy  seas  and  far  away, 
All  I  can  —  I  weep  and  pray 
For  his  weal  that 's  far  away. 


IV. 

Peace,  thy  olive  wand  extend 
And  bid  wild  War  his  ravage  end ; 
Man  with  brother  man  to  meet, 
And  as  brother  kindly  greet ! 
Then    may  Heaven  with  prosperous 

gales 
Fill  my  sailors  welcome  sails, 
To  my  arms  their  charge  convey. 
My  dear  lad  that 's  far  away  ! 


On  the  seas  and  far  away. 
On  stormy  seas  and  far  away, 
To  my  arms  their  charge  convey. 
My  dear  lad  that 's  far-  away  ! 


IS   THERE   FOR   HONEST 
POVERTY. 

[This  famous  song  is  very  plainly  an  ef- 
fect of  the  writer's  sympathies  with  the  spirit 
and  the  fact  of  the  French  Revolution,  and 
of  that  estrangement  from  wealthier  loyalist 
friends  with  which  his  expression  of  these 
sympathies  had  been  visited.] 


I. 

Is  there  for  honest  poverty 

That  hings  his  head,  an'  a'  that? 
The  coward  slave,  we  pass  him  by  — 

We  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that. 

Our  toils  obscure,  an'  a'  that. 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp. 

The  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 


II. 

What  though  on  hamely  fare  we  dine. 

Wear  hoddin  grey,  an'  a'  that  ? 
Gie  fools  their  silks,  and  knaves  their 
wine  — 

A  man  's  a  man  for  a^  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 

Their  tinsel  show,  an"  a'  that. 
The  honest  man,  tho'  e'er  sae  poor. 

Is  king  o^  men  for  a'  that. 


in. 

Ye  see  yon  birkie  ca"d  ^  a  lord,' 

Wha  struts,  an'  stares,  an'  a'  that? 
Tho'  hundreds  worship  at  his  word- 

He  's  but  a  cuif  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that. 

His  ribband,  star,  an'  a'  that, 
The  man  o'  independent  mind, 

He  looks  an'  laughs  at  a'  that. 


324      MARK  YONDER   POMP.  — O,   LET   ME   IN   THIS   AE  NIGHT. 


IV. 

A  prince  can  mak  a  belted  knight, 

A  marquis,  duke,  an'  a'  that ! 
But    an    honest    man's    aboon    his 
might  — 

Guid  faith,  he  mauna  fa'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that. 

Their  dignities,  an'  a'  that, 
The  pith  o'  sense  an'  pride  o'  worth 

Are  higher  rank  than  a'  that. 


V. 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may 

(As  come  it  will  for  a'  that) 
That  Sense  and  Worth  o'er  a' 
earth 

Shall  bear  the  gree  an'  a'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 

It 's  comin  yet  for  a'  that. 
That  man  to  man  the  world  o'er 

Shall  brithers  be  for  a'  that. 


the 


MARK  YONDER  POMP. 

[A  "  reverie  "  on  Chloris.  "  Well,  this  is 
not  amiss."  (Burns  to  Thomson,  May, 
1795-)] 

I. 

Mark  yonder,  pomp  of  costly  fashion 
Round  the  wealthy,  titled  bride  ! 

But,  when  compar'd  with   real  pas- 
sion, 
Poor  is  all  that  princely  pride. 


II. 

What  are  the  showy  treasures  ? 
What  are  the  noisy  pleasures  ? 

The  gay,  gaudy  glare  of  vanity  and 
art  ! 
The  polish'd  jewel's  blaze 
May  draw  the  wond'ring  gaze. 
And  courtly  grandeur  bright 
The  fancy  may  delight. 

But  never,  never  can  come  near  the 
heart ! 


III. 


But  did  you  see  my  dearest  Chloris 

In  simplicity's  array. 
Lovely    as    yonder     sweet     opening 
flower  is, 

Shrinking  from  the  gaze  of  day  : 


IV. 

O,  then,  the  heart  alarming 
And  all  resistless  charming, 

In  love's  delightful  fetters  she  claims 
the  willing  soul  ! 
Ambition  would  disown 
The  world's  imperial  crown  ! 
Ev'n  Avarice  would  deny 
His  worshipp'd  deity, 

And  feel  thro'  every  vein  love's  rap- 
tures roll ! 


O,   LET   ME    IN    THIS   AE 

NIGHT. 

[Founded  on  old  ballads.  Burns  made 
four  trials  before  he  produced  this  song, 
which  he  sent  to  Thomson  in  February, 
I795-] 

Chorus. 

O,  let  me  in  this  ae  night, 
This  ae,  ae,  ae  night  ! 
O,  let  me  in  this  ae  night, 
And  rise,  and  let  me  in  ! 


O  LASSIE,  are  ye  sleepin  yet, 
Or  are  ye  waukin,  I  wad  wit  ? 
For  Love   has  bound  me  hand   an' 
fit. 
And  I  would  fain  be  in,  jo. 

II. 

Thou   hear'st    the   winter  wind    an' 

weet : 
Nae   star    blinks    thro'    the    driving 

sleet! 
Tak  pity  on  my  weary  feet, 
And  shield  me  frae  the  rain,  jo. 


O   PHILLY,    HAPPY   BE  THAT  DAY. 


325 


III. 

The  bitter  blast  that  round  me  blaws, 
Unheeded  howls,  unheeded  fa's  : 
The    cauldness    o'    thy   heart 's    the 
cause 
Of  a'  my  care  and  pine,  jo. 

Chorus. 

O,  let  me  in  this  ae  night, 
This  ae,  ae,  ae  night  ! 
O,  let  me  in  this  ae  night, 
And  rise  and  let  me  in  ! 


Her  Answer. 

Chorus. 

I  tell  you  now  this  ae  night, 
This  ae,  ae,  ae  night. 
And  ance  for  a'  this  ae  night, 
I  winna  let  ye  in,  jo. 

I. 

O,  TELL  me  na  o''  wind  an'  rain. 
Upbraid  na  me  wi'  cauld  disdain, 
Gae  back  the  gate  ye  cam  again, 
I  winna  let  ye  in,  jo! 

II. 

The  snellest  blast  at  mirkest  hours, 
That    round   the    pathless   wand'rer 

pours 
Is  nocht  to  what  poor  she  endures. 
That 's  trusted  faithless  man,  jo. 

III. 

The  sweetest  flower  that  deck'd  the 

mead, 
Now  trodden  like  the  vilest  weed  — 
Let  simple  maid  the  lesson  read  ! 
The  weird  may  be  her  ain,  jo. 

IV. 

The  bird  that  charm'd  his  summer 

day. 
And  now  the  cruel  fowler's  prey, 


Let  that  to  witless  woman  say  :  — 
'■  The  gratefu'  heart  of  man,'  jo. 

Chorus. 

I  tell  you  now  this  ae  night, 
This  ae,  ae,  ae  night. 
And  ance  for  a'  this  ae  night, 
I  winna  let  ye  in,  jo. 


0  PHILLY,    HAPPY    BE    THAT 

DAY. 

[Burns  bes:an  this  song  in  September, 
1794.  He  finished  it  in  November,  "  though 
a  keen  blowing  frost,"  in  his  walk  before 
breakfast.  The  portion  written  in  Septem- 
ber consisted  of  stanzas  iv.  and  v.] 

Chorus. 

He  a7id  She.    For   a'   the  joys  that 
gowd  can  gie, 

1  dinna  care  a  single  flie  ! 

Thei|^d  1 1  love's  the  il^^  Y""' 
\  lass  \  ( lass  \     me. 

And  that 's  my  ain  dear  -j  pu-i/."   [ 


He.   O  P HILLY,  happy  be  that  day 
When,  roving  thro'  the  gathered 

hay. 
My  youthfu'    heart    was    stown 
away. 
And  by  thy  charms,  my  Philly ! 
She.  O  Willy,  ay  I  bless  the  grove 
Where  first  I  own'd  my  maiden 

love. 
Whilst    thou    did    pledge    the 
Powers  above 
To  be  my  ain  dear  WilJy. 

II. 

He.    As  songsters  of  the  early  year 
Are  ilka  day  mair  sweet  to  hear, 
So  ilka  day  to  me  mair  dear 
And  charming  is  my  Philly. 


326 


O,    WERE   MY    LOVE.  —  SLEEP'ST  THOU. 


She.  As  on  the  brier  the  budding  rose 
Still  richer  breathes,  and  fairer 

blows, 
So  in  my  tender  bosom  grows 
The  love  I  bear  my  Willy. 


III. 

He.    The  milder  sun  and  bluer  sky, 
That  crown  my  harvest  cares  wi' 

Were  ne''er  sae  welcome  to  my 
eye 
As  is  a  sight  o^  Philly. 
She.  The    little     swallow's     wanton 
wing. 
The'   wafting   o'er   the   flowery 

spring, 
Did  ne'er  to  me  sic  tidings  bring 
As  meeting  o'  my  Willy. 


IV. 


He. 


The  bee,  that  thro'  the  sunny 

hour 

Sips  nectar  in  the  op'ning  flower. 

Compared  wi'  my  delight  is  poor 

Upon  the  lips  o'  Philly. 

She.  The    woodbine    in    the     dewy 

weet, 

When  evening  shades  in  silence 

meet. 
Is  nocht  sae  fragrant  or  sae  sweet 
As  is  a  kiss  o'  Willy. 


V. 

He.   Let  Fortune's  wheel  at  random 
rin. 
And  fools  may  tyne,  and  knaves 

may  win  ! 
My  thoughts  are  a'  bound  up  on 
ane. 
And  that 's  my  ain  dear  Philly, 
She.  What 's  a'  the  joys  that  gowd 
can  gie? 
I  dinna  care  a  single  flie  ! 
The  lad  I  love  's  the  lad  for  me. 
And  that 's  my  ain  dear  Willy. 


Chorus. 

He  and  She.    For   a'  the  joys  that 

gowd  can  gie, 
I  dinna  care  a  single  flie  ! 

The-^l^^  [  I  love's  the  1J^^  V""' 
( lass  )  ( lass  )     me, 

Willy. 

Philly 


And  that 's  my  ain  dear 


O,   WERE   MY    LOVE. 

[Adapted   by  Burns  from  an   old  song, 
and  sent  to  Thomson,  June,  1793.] 

I. 

O,  WERE  my  love  yon  lilac  fair 

Wi'  purple  blossoms  to  the  spring, 
And  I  a  bird  to  shelter  there. 

When  wearied  on  my  little  wing, 
How  I  wad  mourn  when  it  was  torn 

By  Autumn  wild  and  Winter  rude  ! 
But  I  wad  sing  on  wanton  wing. 

When     youthfu'    May    its    bloom 
renew'd. 

II. 

O,  gin  my  love  were  yon  red  rose, 

That  grows  upon  the  castle  wa', 
And  I  mysel  a  drap  o'  dew 

Into  her  bonie  breast  to  fa', 
O,  there,  beyond  expression  blest, 

I  'd  feast  on  beauty  a'  the  night, 
SeaPd  on  her  silk-saft  faulds  to  rest. 

Till  fley'd  awa  by  Phoebus'  light ! 


SLEEP'ST   THOU. 

[Burns  sent  a  copy  to  Thomson,  Oct.  19, 
1794,  and  a  revised  copy  on  Oct.  27,] 


Sleep'st  thou,  or  wauk'st  thou,  fairest 
creature  ? 

Rosy  Morn  now  lifts  his  eye. 
Numbering  ilka  bud,  which  Nature 

Waters  wi'  the  tears  o'  joy. 


THERE   WAS   A   LASS. 


327 


Now  to  the  streaming  fountain 

Or  up  the  lieathy  mountain 
The  liart,  hind,  and  roe,  freely,  wildly- 
wanton  stray ; 

In  twining  hazel  bowers 

His  lay  the  linnet  pours  ; 

The  laverock  to  the  sky 

Ascends  wi^  sangs  o^  joy, 
While  the  sun  and  thou  arise  to  bless 
the  day ! 

II. 

Phoebus,  gilding  the  brow  of  morning, 
Banishes  ilk  darksome  shade, 

Nature  gladdening  and  adorning  : 
Such  to  me  my  lovely  maid  ! 
When  frae  my  Chloris  parted, 
Sad,  cheerless,  broken-hearted. 

The   night's  gloomy  shades,  cloudy, 
dark,  o'ercast  my  sky  ; 
But  when  she  charms  my  sight 
In  pride  of  Beauty's  light. 
When  thro'  my  very  heart 
Her  beaming  glories  dart, 

'Tis  then  —  'tis  then  I  wake  to  life 
and  joy  ! 


VARIATION 

On   the  preceding  poem,  as  given  in  the 
Chambers  Edition. 

Now  to  the  streaming  fountain. 

Or  up  the  heathy  mountain 
The  hart,  hind,  and  roe,  freely,  wildly- 
wanton  stray. 

In  twining  hazel  bowers 

His  lay  the  linnet  pours  ; 

The  lavrock,  to  the  sky 

Ascends  wi'  sangs  o'  joy, 
While  the  sun  and  thou  arise  to  bless 
the  day. 

When  frae  my  Chloris  parted, 
Sad,  cheerless,  broken-hearted. 
The  night's  gloomy  shades,  cloudy, 
dark,  o'ercast  my  sky  : 
But  when  she  charms  my  sight, 
In  pride  of  Beauty's  light ; 


When  thro'  my  very  heart 
Her  beaming  glories  dart ; 
'Tis  then  —  'tis  then  I  wake  to   life 
and  joy  ! 


THERE  WAS   A   LASS. 

[The  heroine  was  Jean  M'Murdo, 
daughter  of  Burns's  friend,  John  M'Murdo. 
The  finished  ballad  was  sent  to  Thomson, 
July,  1793.] 


There  was  a  lass,  and  she  was  fair  ! 

At  kirk  and  market  to  be  seen 
When  a'  our  fairest  maids  were  met, 

The  fairest  maid  was  bonie  Jean. 


II. 

And  ay  she  wrought  her  country  wark, 
And  ay  she  sang  sae  merrilie  : 

The  blythest  bird  upon  the  bush 
Had  ne'er  a  lighter  heart  than  she! 


III. 

But  hawks  will  rob  the  tender  joys, 

That  bless  the  little  lintwhite's  nest. 
And    frost     will    blight    the    fairest 
flowers. 
And  love  will  break  the  soundest 
rest. 


IV. 

Young  Robie  was  the  brawest  lad. 
The  flower  and  pride  of  a'  the  glen. 

And  he  had  owsen,  sheep,  and  kye, 
And  wanton  naigies  nine  or  ten. 


V. 

He  gaed  wi'  Jeanie  to  the  tryste, 
He  danc'd  wi'  Jeanie  on  the  down, 

And,  lang  ere  witless  Jeanie  wist. 
Her  heart  was  tint,  her  peace  was 
stown  ! 


328        THE   LEA-RIG.  — MY   WIFE'S   A   WINSOME  WEE  THING. 


VI. 

As  in  the  bosom  of  the  stream 

The   moon-beam   dwells    at   dewy 
e'en, 

So,  trembling  pure,  was  tender  love 
Within  the  breast  of  bonie  Jean. 

VII. 

And   now   she   works   her  country's 

wark, 
And  ay  she  sighs  wi'  care  and  pain, 
Yet  wist  na  what  her  ail  might  be, 
Or  what  wad  make  her  weel  again. 

VIII. 

But  did  na  Jeanie's  heart  loup  light, 
And  did  na  joy  blink  in  her  e'e, 

As  Robie  tauld  a  tale  o'  love 
Ae  e'enin  on  the  lily  lea? 

IX. 

While  monie  a  bird  sang   sweet  o' 
love. 
And  monie   a  flower  blooms  o'er 
the  dale. 
His  cheek  to  hers  he  aft  did  lay. 
And    whisper'd    thus    his    tender 
tale :  — 


'  O  Jeanie  fair,  I  lo'e  thee  dear. 

O,  canst  thou  think  to  fancy  me? 
Or  wilt  thou  leave  thy  mammie's  cot. 

And  learn  to  tent  the  farms  wi'  me  ? 

XI. 

'At  barn  or  byre  thou  shalt  na  drudge. 
Or  naething  else  to  trouble  thee. 

But  stray  amang  the  heather-bells. 
And  tent  the  waving  corn  wi'  me.' 

XII. 

Now  what  could  artless  Jeanie  do? 

She  had  nae  will  to  say  him  na! 
At  length  she  blush'd  a  sweet  consent. 

And  love  was  ay  between  them  twa. 


THE    LEA-RIG. 

[Suggested  by  an  older  song.     Fergus- 
son  also  wrote  a  song  to  this  refrain.] 


I. 

When  o'er  the  hill  the  eastern  star 

Tells  bughtin  time  is  near,  my  jo. 
And  owsen  frae  the  furrow'd  field 

Return  sae  dowf  and  weary,  O, 
Down  by  the    burn,   where   scented 
birks 

Wi'  dew  are  hangin  clear,  my  jo, 
I  '11  meet  thee  on  the  lea-rig. 

My  ain  kind  dearie,  O. 


II. 


At  midnight  hour  in  mirkest  glen 

I  'd  rove,  and  ne'er  be  eerie,  O, 
If  thro'  that  glen  I  gaed  to  thee, 

My  ain  kind  dearie,  O  ! 
Altho'  the  night  were  ne'er  sae  wild, 

And  I  were  ne'er  sae  weary,  O, 
I  '11  meet  thee  on  the  lea-rig, 

My  ain  kind  dearie,  O. 

III. 

The  hunter  lo'es  the  morning  sun 
To  rouse  the  mountain  deer,  my  jo  ; 

At  noon  the  fisher  takes  the  glen 
Adown  the  burn  to  steer,  my  jo  : 

Gie  me  the  hour  o'  gloamin  grey  — 
It  maks  my  heart  sae  cheery,  O, 

To  meet  thee  on  the  lea-rig. 


My  ain  kind  dearie,  O  ! 


MY  WIFE'S  A  WINSOME  WEE 
THING. 

["The  following  I  made  extempore ;  and 
though,  on  further  study,  I  might  give  you 
something  more  profound,  yet  it  might  not 
suit  the  light-horse  gallop  of  the  air  so  well 
as  this  random  clink."  (Burns  to  Thom- 
son, Nov.  8,  1792,)] 


MARY    MORISON.  — A   RUINED   FARMER. 


329 


Chorus. 

She  is  a  winsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  handsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  lo'esome  wee  thing. 
This  sweet  wee  wife  o'  mine  ! 


I. 

I  NEVER  saw  a  fairer, 
I  never  lo'ed  a  dearer. 
And  neist  my  heart  I  '11  wear  her, 
For  fear  my  jewel  tine. 

II. 

The  warld's  wrack,  we  share  o  't ; 
The  warstle  and  the  care  o  't, 
Wi'  her  I  '11  blythely  bear  it, 
And  think  my  lot  divinCo 

Chorics. 

She  is  a  winsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  handsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  lo'esome  wee  thing, 
This  sweet  wee  wife  o'  mine. 


MARY   MORISON. 

[This  little  masterpiece  of  feeling  and  ex- 
pression was  sent  to  Thomson,  March  20, 
1793.  Burns  says  of  it :  "  The  song  pre- 
fixed is  one  of  my  juvenile  works.  I  do 
not  think  it  very  remarkable  either  for  its 


merits  or  demerits."  Thomson  suppressed 
it  for  twenty-five  years.  The  heroine  was 
probably  Elison  Begbie.] 


O  Mary,  at  thy  window  be  ! 

It  is  the  wish'd,  the  trysted  hour. 
Those  smiles  and  glances  let  me  see. 

That  make  the  miser's  treasure  poor. 

How  blythely  wad  I  bide  the  stoure, 
A  weary  slave  frae  sun  to  sun. 

Could  I  the  rich  reward  secure  — 
The  lovely  Mary  M  orison  ! 

II. 

Yestreen,  when  to  the  trembling  string 
The  dance  gaed  thro*  the  lighted  ha". 

To  thee  my  fancy  took  its  wing, 
I  sat,  but  neither  heard  or  saw : 
Tho'  this  was  fair,  and  that  was  braw. 

And  yon  the  toast  of  a'  the  town, 

I  sigh'd  and  said  amang  them  a' :  — 
'Ye  are  na  Mary  Morison  ! ' 

III. 

O  Mary,  canst  thou  wreck  his  peace  . 

Wha  for  thy  sake  wad  gladly  die.'* 
Or  canst  thou  break  that  heart  of  his 

Whase  only  faut  is  loving  thee? 

If  love  for  love  thou  wilt  na  gie, 
At  least  be  pity  to  me  shown  : 

A  thought  ungentle  canna  be 
The  thought  o'  Mary  Morison. 


MISCELLANEOUS   SONGS. 


A   RUINED    FARMER. 

[Probably  written  during  the  crisis  of 
William  Burness's  difficulties  at  Mount 
Oliphant.  "  The  farm  proved  a  ruinous 
bargain;  and,  to  clench  the  curse,  we  fell 
into  the  hands  of  a  factor,  who  sat  for  the 
picture  I  have  drawn  of  one  in  my  '  Tale  of 
Two  Dogs.'  "     (R.  B.)] 


The  sun  he  is  sunk  in  the  west, 
All  creatures  retired  to  rest, 


While  here  I  sit,  all  sore  beset 

With  sorrow,  grief,  and  woe : 
And  it 's  O  fickle  Fortune,  O  ! 


II. 


The  prosperous  man  is  asleep. 
Nor  hears  how  the  whirlwinds  sweep ; 
But  Misery  and  I  must  watch 
The  surly  tempests  blow  : 
And  it 's  O  fickle  Fortune,  O  ! 


330       MONTGOMERIE'S  PEGGY.  — THE  LASS  OF  CESSNOCK  BANKS. 


III. 

There   lies  the  dear  Partner  of  my 

breast, 
Her  cares  for  a  moment  at  rest ! 
Must  I  see  thee,  my  youthful  pride, 
Thus  brought  so  very  low  ?  — 
And  it 's  O  fickle  Fortune,  O  ! 

IV. 

There   lie   my   sweet   babies   in   her 

arms  ; 
No   anxious   fear   their  little    hearts 

alarms ; 
But   for   their   sake    my   heart   does 

ache, 
With  many  a  bitter  throe  : 
And  it 's  O  fickle  Fortune,  O  ! 

V. 

I  once  was  by  Fortune  carest, 
I  once  could  relieve  the  distrest ; 
Now  lifer's  poor  support,  hardly  earn'd, 

My  fate  will  scarce  bestow  : 
And  it 's  O  fickle  Fortune,  O  ! 

VI. 

No  comfort,  no  comfort  I  have  ! 
How  welcome  to  me  were  the  grave  ! 
But  then  my  wife  and  children  dear  — 

O,  whither  would  they  go  ! 
And  it 's  O  fickle  Fortune,  O  ! 

VII. 

O,  whither,  O,  whither  shall  I  turn, 
All  friendless,  forsaken,  forlorn? 
For  in  this  world  Rest  or  Peace 

I  never  more  shall  know  : 
And  it 's  O  fickle  Fortune,  O  ! 


MONTGOMERIE'S   PEGGY. 

[Peggy  was  a  housekeeper  at  Coilsfield 
House  in  Burns's  Tarbolton  period,] 


Altho'  my  bed  were  in  yon  muir, 
Amang  the  heather,  in  my  plaidie. 


Yet  happy,  happy  would  I  be, 

Had    I    my    dear    Montgomerie's 
Peggy. 


II. 


When  o'er  the  hill  beat  surly  storms, 
And  winter  nights  were  dark  and 
rainy, 

I  'd  seek  some  dell,  and  in  my  arms 
I  'd     shelter    dear    Montgomerie's 


Peggy. 


III. 


Were  I  a  Baron  proud  and  high, 
And    horse   and    servants   waiting 
ready. 
Then  a'  Hwad  gie  o'  joy  to  me  — 
The  sharin't  with  Montgomerie's 
Peggy. 


THE   LASS   OF   CESSNOCK 
BANKS. 

[The  heroine  is  supposed  to  have  been 
Elison  Begbie,  the  daughter  of  a  farmer  in 
the  parish  of  Galston.to  whom  Burns  made 
what  was  probably  his  first  offer  of  mar- 
riage.] 

I. 

On  Cessnock  banks  a  lassie  dwells, 
Could    I    describe    her   shape    and 
mien  ! 
Our  lassies  a'  she  far  excels  — 

An'  she  has  twa  sparkling,  rogueish 
een  ! 

II. 

She's     sweeter    than     the    morning 
dawn, 
When  rising  Phoebus  first  is  seen. 
And     dew-drops     twinkle     o'er    the 
lawn  — 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling,  rogueish 
een  ! 

III. 

She 's  stately  like  yon  youthful  ash, 
That  grows  the  cowslip  braes  be- 
tween, 


THE   LASS   OF  CESSNOCK   BANKS. 


331 


And  drinks   the  stream  with  vigour 
fresh  — 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling,  rogueish 
een ! 

IV. 

She 's    spotless     like    the     flow'ring 
thorn 
With   flowVs  so  white  and  leaves 
so  green, 
When  purest  in  the  dewy  morn  — 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling,  rogueish 
een ! 


Her  looks  are  like  the  vernal  May, 
When     ev'ning     Phoebus     shines 
serene. 
While  birds  rejoice  on  every  spray  — 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling,  rogue- 
ish een  ! 

VI. 

Her  hair  is  like  the  curling  mist, 
That  climbs  the  mountain-sides  at 
e'en. 
When  flow'r-reviving  rains  are  past  — 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling,  rogueish 
een  ! 

VII. 

Her  forehead 's  like  the  show'ry  bow, 
When   gleaming    sunbeams   inter- 
vene. 
And     gild     the    distant    mountain's 
brow  — 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling,  rogueish 


een  i 


VIII. 


Her  cheeks  are  like  yon  crimson  gem. 
The  pride  of  all  the  flowery  scene, 

Just  opening  on  its  thorny  stem  — 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling,  rogueish 
een ! 


IX. 


Her  teeth  are  like  the  nightly  snow. 
When  pale  the  morning  rises  keen. 


While  hid  the  murmuring  streamlets 
flow  — 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling,  rogueish 
een ! 

X. 

Her  lips  are  like  yon  cherries  ripe. 
That     sunny    walls    from    Boreas 
screen : 
They  tempt  the  taste  and  charm  the 
sight  — 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling,  rogueish 
een  ! 

XI. 

Her  teeth  are  like  a  flock  of  sheep 
With  fleeces  newly  washen  clean. 

That  slowly  mount  the  rising  steep  — 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling,  rogueish 
een  ! 

XII. 

Her  breath  is  like  the  fragrant  breeze, 
That   gently   stirs    the    blossom'd 
bean, 
When    Phoebus    sinks     behind     the 
seas  — 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling,  rogueish 
een  ! 

XIII. 

Her  voice  is  like  the  ev'ning  thrush. 
That    sings    on    Cessnock    banks 
unseen. 
While    his  mate  sits  nestling  in  the 
bush  — 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling,  rogueish 
een  ! 

XIV. 

But  it 's  not  her  air,  her  form,  her 
face, 
Tho'     matching     Beauty's     fabled 
Queen  : 
'Tis  the    mind   that  shines   in   ev'ry 
grace  — 
An"  chieflv  in  her  rogueish  een  ! 


332      THO'   FICKLE  FORTUNE.  — MY  FATHER  WAS  A  FARMER. 


THO'   FICKLE   FORTUNE. 

[This  piece  "  was  an  extempore  under 
the  pressure  of  a  heavy  train  of  misfortunes, 
which,  indeed,  threatened  to  undo  me 
altogether."     (R.  B.)] 


Tho'  fickle  Fortune  has  deceived  me 
(She  promis'd  fair,  and  perform'd 
but  ill), 
Of  mistress,  friends,  and  wealth  be- 
reaved me, 
Yet  I  bear  a  heart  shall  support  me 
still. 

n. 

I  '11  act  with  prudence  as  far  as  I  'm 
able ; 
But  if  success  1  must  never  find. 
Then   come.  Misfortune,  I  bid  thee 
welcome  — 
I  '11  meet  thee  with  an  undaunted 
mind  ! 


RAGING  FORTUNE. 

[Composed    about    the    same   time   as 
"  Tho'  Fickle  Fortune."] 

I. 

O,  RAGING  Fortune's  withering  blast 
Has  laid  my  leaf  full  low  ! 

O,  raging  Fortune's  withering  blast 
Has  laid  my  leaf  full  low  ! 

II. 

My  stem  was  fair,  my  bud  was  green, 
My  blossom  sweet  did  blow ; 

The  dew  fell  fresh,  the  sun  rose  mild, 
And  made  my  branches  grow. 


III. 

But    luckless     Fortune's 
storms 
Laid  a'  my  blossoms  low ! 


northern 


But     luckless     Fortune's     northern 
storms 
Laid  a'  my  blossoms  low  ! 


MY  FATHER  WAS  A  FARMER. 

["  The  following  song  is  a  wild  rhapsody, 
miserably  deficient  in  versification,  but  as 
the  sentiments  are  the  genuine  feelings  of 
my  heart,  for  that  reason  I  have  a  particular 
pleasure  in  conning  it  over."  (R.  B.)  In- 
scribed in  the  "  First  Common  Place  Book," 
April,  1784.] 

I. 

My  father  was   a  farmer  upon  the 

Carrick  border,  O, 
And  carefully  he  bred  me  in  decency 

and  order,  O. 
He  bade  me  act  a  manly  part,  though 

I  had  ne'er  a  farthing,  O, 
For  without  an  honest,  manly  heart 

no  man  was  worth  regarding,  O. 

II. 

Then  out  into  the  world  my  course  I 

did  determine,  O : 
Tho'  to  be  rich  was  not  my  wish,  yet 

to  be  great  was  charming,  O. 
My  talents  they  were  not  the  worst, 

nor  yet  my  education,  O  — 
Resolv'd  was  I  at  least  to  try  to  mend 

my  situation,  O. 

III. 

In   many  a  way  and  vain  essay   I 

courted  Fortune's  favour,  O  : 
Solne  cause  unseen  still  stept  between 

to  frustrate  each  endeavour,  O. 
Sometimes  by  foes  I  was  o'erpower'd, 

sometimes  by  friends  forsaken,  O, 
And  when  my  hope  was  at  the  top,  I 

still  was  worst  mistaken,  O. 

IV. 

Then  sore  harass'd  and  tir'd  at  last 
with  Fortune's  vain  delusion,  O, 

I  dropt  my  schemes  like  idle  dreams, 
and  came  to  this  conclusion,  O  :  — 


O,   LEAVE  NOVELS. 


333 


The  past  was  bad,  and  the  future  hid  ; 

its  good  or  ill  untried,  O, 
But  the  present  hour  was  in  my  pow'r, 

ancCso  I  would  enjoy  it,  O. 


V. 

No  help,  nor  hope,  nor  view  had  I, 

nor  person  to  befriend  me,  O  ; 
So  I  must  toil,  and  sweat,  and  broil, 

and  labour  to  sustain  me,  O  ! 
To  plough  and  sow,  to  reap  and  mow, 

my  father  bred  me  early,  O  : 
For  one,  he  said,  to  labour  bred  was  a 

match  for  Fortune  fairly,  O. 


VI. 

Thus  all  obscure,  unknown,  and  poor, 
thro'  life  I  'm  doom'd  to  wander,  O, 

Till  down  my  weary  bones  I  lay  in 
everlasting  slumber,  O. 

No  view  nor  care,  but  shun  whate'er 
might  breed  me  pain  or  sorrow,  O, 

I  live  to-day  as  well 's  I  may,  regard- 
less of  to-morrow,  O  ! 


VII. 

But,  cheerful  still,  I  am  as  well  as  a 

monarch  in  a  palace,  O, 
Tho"  Fortune's  frown  still  hunts  me 

down,     with     all     her     wonted 

malice,  O  : 
I    make  indeed  my  daily  bread,  but 

ne'er  can  make  it  farther,  O, 
But,  as  daily  bread  is  all  I  need,  I  do 

not  much  regard  her,  O. 


VIII. 

When  sometimes  by  my  labour  I  earn 

a  little  money,  O, 
Some   unforeseen   misfortune   comes 

gen'rally  upon  me,  O  : 
Mischance,  mistake,  or  by  neglect,  or 

my  good-natur'd  folly,  O  — 
But,  come  what  will,  I  "ve  sworn  it  still, 

I  '11  ne'er  be  melancholy,  O. 


IX. 

All  you  who  follow  wealth  and  power 

with  unremitting  ardour,  O, 
The  more  in  this  you  look  for  bliss,  you 

leave  your  view  the  farther,  O. 
Had  you  the  wealth  Potosi  boasts,  or 

nations  to  adore  you,  O, 
A  cheerful,  honest-hearted  clown  I  will 

prefer  before  you,  O  ! 


O,   LEAVE   NOVELS. 

[Burns  never  published  this  poem.      He 
was  "  Rob  Mossgiel "  from  1784  to  1786.] 


I. 

O,  LEAVE  novels,  ye  Mauchline 
belles  — 

Ye  're  safer  at  your  spinning-wheel ! 
Such  witching  books  are  baited  hooks 

For  rakish  rooks  like  Rob  Mossgiel. 

II. 

Your  fine  Tom  Jones  and  Grandisons 
They  make  your  youthful  fancies 
reel  ! 
They  heat  your  brains,  and  fire  your 
veins. 
And  then   you  're  prey    for    Rob 
Mossgiel. 

III. 

Beware  a  tongue  that 's  smoothly 
hung, 

A  heart  that  warmly  seems  to  feel  ! 
That  feeling  heart  but  acts  a  part  — 

'Tis  rakish  art  in  Rob  Mossgiel. 


rv. 

The  frank  address,  the  soft  caress 
Are  worse  than  poisoned  darts  of 
steel : 

The  frank  address  and  politesse 
Are  all  finesse  in  Rob  Mossgiel. 


334 


THE   MAUCHLINE  LADY.— THERE   WAS   A   LAD. 


THE   MAUCHLINE   LADY. 

["  Possibly  the  Mauchline  belle  of  this 
snatch  is  Jean  Armour,  afterwards  the  poet's 
wife."] 

I. 

• 

When  first  I  came  to  Stewart  Kyle, 
My  mind  it  was  na  steady  : 

Where'er  I  gaed,  where'er  I  rade, 
A  mistress  still  I  had  ay. 

II. 

But  when  I  came  roun'  by  Mauchline 
toun, 

Not  dreadin  anybody, 
My  heart  was  caught,  before  I  thought, 

And  by  a  Mauchline  lady. 


ONE   NIGHT   AS  I    DID    WAN- 
DER. 

["A  fragment,  probably  of  May,  1785." 
—  Andrew  Lang.] 

One  night  as  I  did  wander, 

When  corn  begins  to  shoot, 
I  sat  me  down  to  ponder 

Upon  an  auld  tree-root : 
Auld  Ayr  ran  by  before  me, 

And  bickerM  to  the  seas ; 
A  cushat  crooded  o'er  me, 

That  echoed  through  the  trees. 


THERE   WAS   A   LAD. 

[Not  published  by  Burns.      The  tune 
is  an  old  one.] 

Chorus. 

Robin  was  a  rovin  boy, 

Rantin,  rovin,  rantin,  rovin, 

Robin  was  a  rovin  boy, 
Rantin,  rovin  Robin  ! 


There  was  a  lad  was  born  in  Kyle, 
But  whatna  day  o'  whatna  style, 
I  doubt  it 's  hardly  worth  the  while 
To  be  sae  nice  wi'  Robin. 


.    II. 

Our  monarch's   hindmost    year    but 

ane 
Was  five-and-twenty  days  begun, 
'T  was  then  a  blast  o'  Jan  war'  win' 
Blew  hansel  in  on  Robin. 

III. 

The  gossip  keekit  in  his  loof, 

Quo'  scho  :  — '  Wha  lives  will  see  the 

proof, 
This  waly  boy  will  be  nae  coof : 
I  think  we  '11  ca'  him  Robin. 


IV. 

'■  He  '11  hae  misfortunes  great  an'  sma', 
But  ay  a  heart  aboon  them  a'. 
He  '11  be  a  credit  till  us  a' : 
We  '11  a'  be  proud  o'  Robin  ! 


V. 

'But  sure  as  three  times  three  mak 

nine, 
I  see  by  ilka  score  and  line. 
This  chap  will  dearly  like  our  kin', 
So  leeze  me  on  thee,  Robin  ! 


VI. 

'  Guid  faith,'  quo'  scho,  '  I  doubt  you, 

stir. 
Ye  gar  the  lasses  lie  aspar ; 
But  twenty  fauts  ye  may  hae  waur  — 
So  blessins  on  thee,  Robin  ! ' 

Chorus. 

Robin  was  a  rovin  boy, 

Rantin,  rovin,  rantin,  rovin, 

Robin  was  a  rovin  boy, 
Rantin,  rovin  Robin ! 


WILL  YE   GO  TO  THE  INDIES.— THE  LASS  O'   BALLOCHMVLE.      335 


WILL  YE  GO  TO  THE  INDIES, 
MY   MARY. 


["  In  my  very  early  years,  when  I  was 
thinking  of  going  to  the  West  Indies,  I 
took  the  following  farewell  of  a  dear  girl." 
(Burns  to  Thomson,  October,  1792.)  Prob- 
ably refers  to  Highland  Mary.] 


I. 


Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary, 
And  leave  auld  Scotia's  shore  ? 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary, 
Across  th'  Atlantic  roar? 


II. 

O,   sweet   grows   the    lime   and   the 
orange. 

And  the  apple  on  the  pine ; 
But  a'  the  charms  o'  the  Indies 

Can  never  equal  thine. 


III. 

I  hae  sworn  by  the  Heavens  to  my 
Mary, 
I  hae  sworn  by  the  Heavens  to  be 
true, 
And  sae  may  the  Heavens  forget  me, 
When  I  forget  my  vow  ! 


IV, 


O,  plight  me  your  faith,  my  Mary, 
And  plight  me  your  lily-white  hand  ! 

O,  plight  me  your  faith,  my  Mary, 
Before  I  leave  Scotia's  strand  ! 


V. 

We  hae  plighted  our  troth,  my  Mary, 
In  mutual  affection  to  join  ; 

And  curst  be  the  cause  that  shall  part 
us  ! 
The  hour  and  the  moment  o'  time  ! 


HER   FLOWING    LOCKS. 

["  If  Miss  Whitefoord  is  the  heroine,  she 
may  well  have  admired  the  audacity  ot  the 
singer."  — ANDREW  LanG.J 


I. 

Her  flowing  locks,  the  raven's  wing, 
Adown  her  neck  and  bosom  hing. 
How  sweet  unto  that  breast  to  cling. 
And  round  that  neck  entwine  her ! 


II. 

Her  lips  are  roses  wat  wi'  dew  — 
O,  what  a  feast,  her  bonie  mou  ! 
Her  cheeks  a  mair  celestial  hue, 
A  crimson  still  diviner  ! 


THE   LASS  O'  BALLOCHMYLE. 

["  Sent  to  Miss  Wilhelmina  Alexander 
of  Ballochmyle,  who  did  not  reply,  though, 
when  old,  she  was  proud  of  the  tribute. 
'You  will  easily  see,' wrote  Burns  to  Mrs. 
Stewart  of  Stair,  '  the  impropriety  of  expos- 
ing the  song  much,  even  in  manuscript.'" 
—  Andrew  Lang.J 


'T  WAS   even :    the  dewy  fields  w^ere 
green. 

On  every  blade  the  pearls  hang, 
The  zephyr  wanton'd  round  the  bean. 

And  bore  its  fragrant  sweets  alang, 

In  ev'ry  glen  the  mavis  sang, 
All  Nature  listening  seem'd  the  while. 

Except  where   greenwood    echoes 
rang 
Amang  the  braes  o'  Ballochmyle. 

II. 

With  careless  step  I  onward  stray'd. 
My  heart  rejoic'd  in  Nature's  joy, 

WHien,  musing  in  a  lonely  glade, 
A  maiden  fair  I  chanc'd  to  spy. 


33^ 


THE  NIGHT   WAS   STILL.  —  MASONIC  SONG. 


Her  look  was  like  the  Morning's 
eye, 
Her  air  like  Nature's  vernal  smile. 

Perfection  whispered,  passing  by  :  — 
'  Behold  the  lass  o'  Ballochmyle  ! ' 

III. 

Fair  is  the  morn  in  flowery  May, 
And   sweet    is    night    in    autumn 
mild, 
When  roving  thro'  the  garden  gay, 
Or  wand'ring  in  the  lonely  wild  ; 
But  woman.  Nature's  darling  child  — 
There  all  her  charms  she  does  com- 
pile ! 
Even   there   her   other  works   are 
foil'd 
By  the  bonie  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 

IV. 

O,  had  she  been  a  country  maid, 
And  I  the  happy  country  swain, 

Tho'  shelter'd  in  the  lowest  shed 
That  ever  rose  on  Scotia's  plain, 
Thro'  weary  winter's  wind  and  rain 

With  joy,  with  rapture,  I  would  toil. 
And  nightly  to  my  bosom  strain 

The  bonie  lass  o'  Ballochmyle  ! 

V. 

Then  Pride  might  climb  the  slipp'ry 
steep,- 
Where    fame    and    honours    lofty 
shine. 
And  thirst  of  gold  might  tempt  the 
deep. 
Or     downward    seek     the    Indian 

mine  ! 
Give  me  the  cot  below  the  pine, 
To  tend  the  flocks  or  till  the  soil. 
And  ev'ry  day  have  joys  divine 
With  the  bonie  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 


THE  NIGHT   WAS    STILL. 

[The  manuscript  was  given  to  one  of  tlie 
daughters  of  Dr.  Laurie  of  Newmilns;  and 
commemorates  a  dance  —  when  Burns  for 


the  first  time  heard  the  spinet  —  in  the  manse 
of  Newmilns,  on  the  banks  of  Irvine.] 

I. 

The  night  was  still,  and  o'er  the  hill 
The  moon  shone  on  the  castle  wa', 

The   mavis    sang,   while    dew-drops 
hang 
Around  her  on  the  castle  wa' : 

II. 

Sae  merrily  they  danc'd  the  ring 
Frae  eenin'  till  the  cock  did  craw, 

And  ay  the  o'erword  o'  the  spring 
Was  :  —  '  Irvine's  bairns  are  bonie 


MASONIC  SONG. 

[Said  to  have  been  recited  by  Burns  at 
his  admission  as  an  honorary  member  of 
the  Kilwinning  St.  John's  Lodge,  Kilmar- 
nock, Oct.  26,  1786.J 

I. 

Ye  sons  of  old  Killie,  assembled  by 
Willie 
To  follow  the  noble  vocation, 
Your  thrifty  old  mother  has  scarce 
such  another 
To  sit  in  that  honored  station  ! 
I  've  little  to  say,  but  only  to  pray 
(As    praying's    the    ^on    of    your 
fashion). 
A   prayer  from   the   Muse   you  well 
may  excuse 
('Tis  seldom   her    favourite    pas- 
sion) ;  — 

II. 

'  Ye  Powers  who  preside  o'er  the  wind 
and  the  tide. 
Who  marked  each  element's  border, 
Who  formed  this  frame  with  benefi- 
cent aim, 
Whose  sovereign  statute  is  order. 
Within  this  dear  mansion  may  way- 
ward Contention 


THE   BONIE   MOOR-HEN.— HERE'S   A   BOTTLE. 


337 


Or  withert^d  Envy  ne'er  enter  ! 
Ma);  Secrecy  round  be  the  mystical 
bound. 

And   brotherly  Love   be   the  cen- 
tre ! ' 


THE   BONIE   MOOR-HEN. 

[An  adaptation  from   an   old  song.    A 
favorite  ditty  of  the  old  ballads.] 

Chorics. 

I  rede  you,  beware  at  the  hunting, 
young  men  ! 

I  rede  you,  beware  at  the  hunting, 
young  men  ! 

Take  some  on  the  wing,  and  some  as 
they  spring, 

But  cannily  steal  on  a  bonie  moor- 
hen. 


The  heather  \vas  blooming,  the  mead- 

ow^s  were  mawn. 
Our  lads  gaed  a-hunting  ae  day  at 

the  dawn, 
O'er    moors    and    o'er   mosses    and 

monie  a  glen : 
At   length   they  discovered   a  bonie 

moor-hen. 


II. 

Sweet-brushing    the    dew  from    the 

brown  heather  bells, 
Her   colours    betray'd    her    on    yon 

mossy  fells  ! 
Her  plumage  outlustred  the  pride  o' 

the  spring. 
And  O,  as  she  wanton'd  sae  gay  on 

the  wing, 

III. 

Auld  Phoebus  himseP,  as  he  peep'd 

o'er  the  hill, 
In  spite  at  her  plumage  he  tryed  his 

skill : 


He  level'd  his  rays  where  she  bask'd 

on  the  brae  — 
His    rays    were    outshone,   and   but 

mark'd  where  she  lay  ! 


IV. 

They  hunted  the  valley,  they  hunted 

the  hill. 
The  best  of  our  lads  wi'  the  best  o' 

their  skill ; 
But  still  as  the  fairest  she  sat  in  their 

sight. 
Then,  whirr  !  she  was  over,  a  mile  at 


a  flight. 


Chorus. 


I  rede  you,  beware  at  the  hunting, 
young  men  ! 

I  rede  you,  beware  at  the  hunting, 
young  men  ! 

Take  some  on  the  wing,  and  some  as 
they  spring, 

But  cannily  steal  on  a  bonie  moor- 
hen. 


HERE'S   A  BOTTLE. 

[Gilbert  Burns  expressed  his  doubts  of 
Robert's  authorship  of  this  trifle.] 

There 's  nane  that's  blest  of  human  kind 
But  the  cheerful  and  the  gay,  man. 


Here's  a  bottle  and  an  honest  man  ! 

What  wad  ye  wish  for  mair,  man  ? 
Wha  kens,  before  his  life  may  end. 

What  his  share  may  be  o'  care, 
man  ? 

II. 

Then  catch  the  moments  as  they  fly, 
And  use  them  as  ye  ought,  man  ! 

Believe  me,  Happiness  is  shy. 

And  comes  not  ay  when  sought, 
man 


338 


THE   BONIE   LASS.— THE   CHEVAUER'S  LAMENT. 


THE    BONIE   LASS   OF 
ALBANIE. 

[Charlotte  Stuart,  daughter  of  Charles 
Edward,  the  "Young  Pretender,"  by  Clem- 
entina Walkinsiiaw.  She  was  legitimized 
by  the  "  Parlement  of  Paris,"  December  6, 
1787,  when  she  took  the  style  of  Duchess 
of  Albany.    She  died  soon  after  her  father.] 


I. 

My  heart  is  wae,  and  unco  wae, 
To  think 'upon  the  raging  sea, 

That  roars  between  her  gardens  green 
An'  the  bonie  lass  of  Albanie. 


II. 

This  noble  maid 's  of  royal  blood, 
That  ruled  Albion's  kingdoms  three  ; 

But  O,  alas  for  her  bonie  face  ! 

They  hae  wranged  the  lass  of  Al- 
banie. 

III. 

In  the  rolling  tide  of  spreading  Clyde 
There  sits  an  isle  of  high  degree, 

And  a  town  of  fame,  whose  princely 
name 
Should  grace  the  lass  of  Albanie. 


IV. 

But  there  is  a  youth,  a  witless  youth, 
That    fills    the    place    where    she 
should  be. 
We  11   send    him  o'er   to  his   native 
shore, 
And  bring  our  ain  sweet  Albanie  ! 


V. 

Alas  the  day,  and  woe  the  day  ! 

A  false  usurper  wan  the  gree, 
Who  now  commands  the  towers  and 
lands, 

The  royal  right  of  Albanie. 


VI. 


We  '11  daily  pray,  we  '11  nightly  pray, 
On  bended  knees  most  fervently. 

That  the  time  may  come,  with  pipe 
and  drum 
We  '11  welcome  hame  fair  Albanie. 


AMANG   THE   TREES. 

[Written  in  honor  of  Niel  Gow  (1727- 
1807),  the  famous  fiddler,  whom  Burns  met 
during  his  Northern  tour  in  1787,] 


I. 

Amang  the   trees,   where    humming 
bees 
At  buds  and  flowers  were  hinging,  O, 
Auld  Caledon  drew  out  her  drone, 
And  to  her  pipe  was  singing,  O. 
'T  was    Pibroch,    Sang,    Strathspeys 
and  Reels  — 
She  dirl'd  them  aff  fu'  clearly,  O, 
When  there  cam'  a  yell   o'  foreign 
squeels. 
That  dang  her  tapsalteerie,  O ! 


II. 

Their   capon    craws   an'   queer  ^ha, 
ha's,' 

They  made  our  lugs  grow  eerie,  O. 
The  hungry  bike  did  scrape  and  fyke, 

Till  we  were  wae  and  weary,  O. 
But   a  royal   ghaist,   wha  ance   was 
cas'd 

A  prisoner  aughteen  year  awa, 
He  fir'd  a  Fiddler  in  the  North, 

That  dang  them  tapsalteerie,  O  ! 


THE   CHEVALIER'S   LAMENT. 

["The  Chevalier  was  dead  (March, 
1788)  when  the  song  was  written.  Prince 
Charles  is  accused  by  d'Alembert,  in  his 
Eloge  on  the  Earl  Marischal,  of  indifference 


YESTREEN   I    HAD   A   PINT   O'   WINE. 


339 


to  the  fate  of  his  supporters."  —  Andrew 
Lang.] 

I. 

The  small  birds  rejoice  in  the  green 
leaves  returning, 
The    murmuring    streamlet   winds 
clear  thro'  the  vale, 
The  primroses  blow  in  the  dews  of 
the  morning. 
And  wild  scattered  cowslips  bedeck 
the  green  dale : 
But  what  can  give  pleasure,  or 

what  can  seem  fair, 
When  the  lino^erino;  moments  are 
numbered  by  care? 
No  flowYs  gaily  springing. 
Nor  birds  sweetly  singing 
Can   soothe   the   sad   bosom   of 
joyless  despair ! 


II. 

The  deed  that  I  dar'd,  could  it  merit 
their  malice, 
A  king  and  a  father  to  place  on  his 
throne  ? 
His    right    are  these  hills,    and  his 
right  are  those  valleys. 
Where  the  wild  beasts  find  shelter, 
tho'  I  can  find  none  ! 
But  'tis  not  my  sufferings  thus 

wretched,  forlorn  — 
My   brave    gallant   friends,   't  is 
your  ruin  I  mourn  ! 
Your  faith  prov'd  so  loyal 
In  hot  bloody  trial, 
Alas  !    can  I  make  it  no  better 
return  ? 


YESTREEN   I   HAD   A   PINT 
O'   WINE. 

[The  Anna  of  the  song  was  Anne  Park, 
niece  of  Mrs.  Hyslop  of  the  Globe  Tavern, 
Dumfries.  She  bore  a  daughter  to  Burns, 
March  31,  1791,  which  was  first  sent  to 
Mossgiel,  and  afterwards  fostered  by  Mrs. 


Burns  along  with  her  baby,  William  Nicol, 
born  ten  days  after  it.] 

I. 

Yestreen  I  had  a  pint  o'  wine, 
A  place  where  body  saw  na ; 

Yestreen  lay  on  this  breast  o'  mine 
The  gowden  locks  of  Anna. 

II. 

The  hungry  Jew  in  wilderness 

Rejoicing  o'er  his  manna 
Was  naething  to  my  hiney  bliss 

Upon  the  lips  of  Anna. 

III. 

Ye  monarchs  take  the  East  and  West 

Frae  Indus  to  Savannah  : 
Gie  me  within  my  straining  grasp 

The  melting  form  of  Anna  ! 

IV. 

There  I  '11  despise  Imperial  charms, 

An  Empress  or  Sultana, 
While  dying  raptures  in  her  arms 

I  give  and  take  wi'  Anna  ! 

V. 

Awa,  thou  flaunting  God  of  Day  ! 

Awa,  thou  pale  Diana  ! 
Ilk  Star,  gae  hide  thy  twinkling  ray, 

When  1  'm  to  meet  my  Anna  ! 

VI. 

Come,  in  thy  raven  plumage.  Night 
(Sun,  Moon,  and  Stars,  withdrawn 

And  bring  an  Angel-pen  to  write 
My  transports  with  my  Anna  ! 

Postscript. 
I. 

The  Kirk  an'  State  may  join,  and  tell 
To  do  sic  things  I  maunna : 

The  Kirk  an'  State  may  gae  to  Hell, 
And  I  '11  gae  to  my  Anna. 


340 


SWEET  ARE  THE   BANKS.  — YE   FLOWERY   BANKS. 


II 


She.  is  the  sunshine  o'  my  e'e, 
To  live  but  her  I  canna : 

Had  I  on  earth  but  wishes  three, 
The  first  should  be  my  Anna. 


SWEET  ARE   THE   BANKS. 

[First  published  in  this  form  by  Scott 
Douglas.  Burns  writes  to  Cunningham  from 
Ellisland,  March  ii,  1791 :  "  I  have  this 
evening  sketched  out  a  song  which  I  have  a 
good  mind  to  send  you.  ...  It  is  intended 
to  be  sung  to  a  Strathspey  reel  of  which  I 
am  very  fond,  called  '  Ballindalloch's  Reel' 
and  '  Camdelmore.' "  — Andrew  Lang.] 


I. 

Sweet  are  the  banks,  the  banks  o' 
Doon, 

The  spreading  flowers  are  fair, 
And  everything  is  blythe  and  glad. 

But  I  am  fu'  o'  care. 
Thou  '11  break  my  heart,  thou  bonie 
bird, 

That  sings  upon  the  bough  ! 
Thou  minds  me  o'  the  happy  days 

When  my  fause  Luve  was  true. 
Thou  'll  break  my  heart,  thou  bonie 
bird, 

That  sings  beside  thy  mate. 
For  sae  I  sat,  and  sae  I  sang. 

And  wist  na  o'  my  fate  ! 

n. 

Aft  hae  I  rov'd  by  bonie  Doon, 

To  see  the  woodbine  twine. 
And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  luve, 

And  sae  did  1  o'  mine. 
Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose 

Upon  its  thorny  tree. 
But  my  fause  luver  staw  my  rose. 

And  left  the  thorn  wi'  me. 
Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose 

Upon  a  morn  in  June, 
And  sae  I  flourish'd  on  the  morn, 

And  sae  was  pu'd  or  noon. 


YE   FLOWERY   BANKS. 

["  While  here  I  sit,  sad  and  solitary,  by 
the  side  of  a  fire  in  a  little  country  inn,  and 
drying  my  wet  clothes,  in  pops  a  poor  fellow 
of  a  sodger,  and  tells  me  he  is  going  to  Ayr. 
By  Heavens !  says  I  to  myself,  with  a  tide 
of  good  spirits  which  the  magic  of  that 
sound  '  Auld  Toon  of  Ayr '  conjured  up,  I 
will  send  my  last  song  to  Mr.  Ballantine." 
(R.  B.)] 


Ye  flowery  banks  o'  bonie  Doon, 
How  can  ye  blume  sae  fair? 

How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 
And  I  sae  fu'  o'  care.'* 


n. 

Thou  '11  break  my  heart,  thou  bonie 
bird, 

That  sings  upon  the  bough  : 
Thou  minds  me  o'  the  happy  days 

When  my  fause  Luve  was  true  ! 


ni. 

Thou  '11  break  my  heart,  thou  bonie 
bird. 

That  sings  beside  thy  mate : 
For  sae  I  sat,  and  sae  I  sang, 

And  wist  na  o'  my  fate  ! 


IV. 

Aft  hae  I  rov'd  by  bonie  Doon 
To  see  the  woodbine  twine. 

And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  luve, 
And  sae  did  I  o'  mine. 


V. 

Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose 
Frae  aff  its  thorny  tree, 

And  my  fause  luver  staw  my  rose, 
But  left  the  thorn  wi'  me. 


CALEDONIA. 


341 


CALEDONIA. 

[Sent   to  Johnson   Jan.   23,    1789;    but 
Johnson  did  not  publish  the  song.] 

I. 

There  was  on  a  time,  but  old  Time 
was  then  young. 
That  brave  Caledonia,  the  chief  of 
her  line. 
From  some  of  your  northern  deities 
sprung 
(Who  knows  not  that  brave  Cale- 
donia 's  divine). 
From  Tweed  to  the  Orcades  was  her 
domain, 
To  hunt,  or  to  pasture,  or  do  what 
she  would. 
Her  heav"nly  relations  there  fixed  her 
reign, 
And  pledged  her  their  godheads  to 
warrant  it  good. 

II. 

A  lambkin  in  peace  but  a  lion  in  war, 
The  pride  of  her  kindred  the  hero- 
ine grew. 

Her  grandsire,  old  Odin,  triumphantly 
swore :  — 

'  Whoe'er  shall  provoke  thee,  th'  en- 
counter shall  rue  ! ' 

With  tillage  or  pasture  at  times  she 
would  sport, 
To  feed  her  fair  flocks  by  her  green 
rustling  corn  ; 

But  chiefly  the  woods  were  her  fav'rite 
resort, 
Her  darling  amusement  the  hounds 
and  the  horn. 


in. 

Long  quiet  she.  reign'd,  till   thither- 
ward steers 
A  flight  of  bold  eagles  from  Adria's 
strand. 

Repeated,  successive,  for  many  long 
years, 


They  darkened  the   air,  and   they 

plunder'd  the  land. 
Their     pounces    were    murder,    and 

horror  their  cry : 
They'd   conquered   and  ravag'd   a 

world  beside. 
She  took  to  her  hills,  and  her  arrows 

let  fly  — 
The  daring  invaders,  they  fled  or 

they  died  ! 

IV. 

The   Cameleon-Savage  disturbed  her 
repose. 
With    tumult,   disquiet,    rebellion, 
and  strife. 
Provoked  beyond  bearing,  at  last  she 
arose, 
And   robbed   him  at  once   of   his 
hopes  and  his  life. 
The    Anglian    Lion,    the    terror    of 
France, 
Oft,     prowling,     ensanguin'd     the 
Tweed's  silver  flood, 
But,  taught  by  the  bright  Caledonian 
lance, 
He  learned  to  fear  in  his  own  native 
wood. 

V. 

The  fell  Harpy-Raven  took  wing  from 
the  north, 
The  scourge  of  the  seas,  and  the 
dread  of  the  shore  ; 
The   wild  Scandinavian  Boar  issued 
forth 
To  wanton  in  carnage  and  wallow 
in  gore ; 
O'er   countries   and   kingdoms    their 
fury  prevailed. 
No   arts   could   appease   them,  no 
arms  could  repel ; 
But   brave    Caledonia   in  vain    they 
assail'd, 
As    Largs   well    can    witness,  and 
Loncartie  tell. 

VI. 

Thus  bold,  independent,  unconquer'd, 
and  free, 


342      YOU'RE  WELCOME,  WILLIE  STEWART.  —  WHEN  EIRST  I  SAW. 


Her  bright  course  of  glory  for  ever 
shall  run, 
For  brave  Caledonia  immortal   must 
be, 
I  11  prove  it  from  Euclid  as  clear  as 
the  sun :  — 
Rectangle-triangle,   the   figure   we  '11 
chuse ; 
The   upright   is   Chance,   and   old 
Time  is  the  base, 
But  brave  Caledonia 's  the  hypothe- 
nuse ; 
Then,  ergo,  she  '11  match  them,  and 
match  them  always  ! 


YOU'RE   WELCOME,    WILLIE 
STEWART. 

[Originally  inscribed  on  a  crystal  tumbler, 
now  at  Abbotsford.  The  song  is  modelled 
on  the  same  Jacobitism  as  "  O  Lovely  Polly 
Stewart."] 

Chorus. 

You  're  welcome,  Willie  Stewart ! 

You  're  welcome,  Willie  Stewart ! 
There  's  ne'er  a  flower  that  blooms  in 
May, 

That 's  half  sae  welcome 's  thou  art ! 


I. 

Come,  bumpers  high  !   express  your 
joy! 

The  bowl  we  maun  renew  it  — 
The  tappet  hen,  gae  bring  her  ben, 

To  welcome  Willie  Stewart  ! 

II. 

May  foes  be  strong,  and  friends  be 
slack  ! 

Ilk  action,  may  he  rue  it  ! 
May  woman  on  him  turn  her  back. 

That  wrangs  thee,  Willie  Stewart  ! 

Chorus. 

You  're  welcome,  Willie  Stewart ! 
You're  welcome,  Willie  Stewart ! 


There 's  ne'er  a  flower  that  blooms  in 
May, 
That 's  half  sae  welcome  's  thou  art ! 


WHEN   FIRST   I    SAW. 

[Chambers  states  that  the  heroine  of  it 
was  a  Miss  Jean  Jeffrey,  whom  Burns  cele- 
brated in  "  The  Blue-eyed  Lassie."] 

Chorus. 

She  's  aye,  aye  sae  blithe,  sae  gay, 
She  's  aye  sae  blithe  and  cheerie, 

She 's  aye  sae  bonie,  blithe  and  gay, 
O,  gin  I  were  her  dearie ! 


I. 

When  first  I  saw  fair  Jeanie's  face, 

I  couldna  tell  what  ail'd  me : 
My  heart  went  fluttering  pit-a-pat, 

My  een  they  almost  fail'd  me. 
She 's  aye  sae  neat,  sae  trim,  sae  tight, 

All  grace  does  round  her  hover  ! 
Ae  look  deprived  me  o'  my  heart, 

And  I  became  her  lover. 


II. 

Had  I  Dundas's  whole  estate. 

Or  Hopetoun's  wealth  to  shine  in ; 
Did  warlike  laurels  crown  my  brow. 

Or  humbler  bays  entwining ; 
I  'd  lay  them  a'  at  Jeanie's  feet, 

Could  I  but  hope  to  move  her. 
And,  prouder  than  a  belted  knight, 

1  'd  be  my  Jeanie's  lover. 


III. 

But  sair  I  fear  some  happier  swain. 

Has  gain'd  my  Jeanie's  favour. 
If  so,  may  every  bliss  be  hers, 

Though  I  maun  never  have  her  ! 
But  gang  she  east,  or  gang  she  west, 

'Tvvixt  Forth  and  Tweed  all  over. 
While  men  have  eyes,  or  ears,  or  taste, 

She  11  always  find  a  lover. 


HERE'S   A    HEALTH   TO  THEM   THAT'S   AWA. 


343 


Chonis. 

She 's  aye,  aye  sae  blithe,  sae  gay, 
She's  aye  sae  bhthe  and  cheerie. 

She  's  aye  sae  bonie,  blithe  and  gay, 
O,  gin  I  were  her  dearie  ! 


BEHOLD   THE   HOUR. 

FIRST   SET. 
[Sent  to  Clarinda,  Dec.  27,  1791.] 

I. 

Behold  the  hour,  the  boat,  arrive  ! 

My  dearest  Nancy,  O,  farewell  ! 
Severd  frae  thee,  can  I  survive, 

Frae  thee  whom  I  hae  lov'd  sae  well  ? 

II. 

Endless  and  deep  shall  be  my  grief, 
Nae  ray  of  comfort  shall  I  see. 

But  this  most  precious,  dear  belief. 
That  thou  wilt  still  remember  me. 

III. 

Along  the  solitary  shore. 

Where  flitting  sea-fowl  round  me  cry, 
Across  the  rolling,  dashing  roar, 

111  westward  turn  my  wistful  eye. 

IV. 

'  Happy  thou  Indian  grove,'  I  '11  say, 
'Where  now  my  Nancy's  path  shall 
be  ! 
While  thro'  your  sweets  she  holds  her 
way, 
O,  tell  me,  does  she  muse  on  me?' 


HERE'S  A  HEALTH  TO  THEM 

THAT'S  AWA. 

[Founded  on  an  old  Jacobite  song.] 

I. 

Here  's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa, 
Here  's  a  heaMi  to  them  that  's 
awa  ! 


And  wha  winna  wish  guid  luck  to  our 
cause. 
May  never  guid  luck  be  their 
fa'! 
It's  guid  to  be  merry  and  wise. 

It 's  guid  to  be  honest  and  true. 
It 's  guid  to  support  Caledonia's  cause 
And  bide  by  the  buff  and  the 
blue. 

II- 
Here 's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa, 
Here's  a  health  to  them  that's 
awa  ! 
Here 's  a  health  to  Charlie,  the  chief 
o'  the  clan, 
Altho'  that  his  band  be  sma'  ! 
May  Liberty  meet  wi'  success. 

May  Prudence  protect  her  frae 
evil  ! 
May  tyrants  and  Tyranny  tine  i'  the 
mist 
And  wander  their  way  to  the 
Devil  ! 

III. 
Here 's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa, 
Here  's  a  health  to  them  that 's 
awa  ! 
Here  's  a  health  to  Tammie,  the  Nor- 
lan'  laddie. 
That   lives  at   the  lug  o'  the 
Law  ! 
Here  's  freedom  to  them  that  wad 
read. 
Here 's  freedom  to  them  that 
would  write  ! 
There  's  nane  ever  fear'd  that  the  truth 
should  be  heard 
But  they  whom  the  truth  would 
indite  ! 

Here 's  a  health  to  them  that  *s  awa. 
An'  here  's  to  them  that  *s  awa  ! 
Here's  to  Maitland  and  Wycombe! 
Let  wha  does  na  like  'em 
Be  built  in  a  hole  in  the  wa' ! 
Here's    timmer   that's  red  at  the 
heart. 


344 


AH,   CHLORIS.  —  MEG   O'  THE  MILL. 


Here 's  fruit   that  is  sound  at 

the  core, 
And  may  he  that  wad  turn  the  buff 

and  blue  coat 
Be  turn'd  to  the  back  o'  the 

door! 


V. 

Here 's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa, 
Here 's  a  health  to  them  that 's 
awa  ! 
Here 's  chieftain  M'Leod,  a  chieftain 
worth  gowd, 
Tho'  bred  amang  mountains  o' 
snaw  ! 
Here 's  friends  on  baith  sides  o'  the 
Firth, 
And  friends  on  baith  sides  o' 
the  Tweed, 
And   wha  wad  betray  old  Albion's 
right, 
May  they   never   eat   of   her 
bread ! 


AH,   CHLORIS. 

["  Esteem  for  Miss  Lorimer  may  have 
been  a  genuine  sentiment."— ANDREW 
Lang.] 

I. 

Ah,  Chloris,  since  it  may  not  be 
That  thou  of  love  wilt  hear, 

If  from  the  lover  thou  maun  flee, 
Yet  let  the  friend  be  dear  ! 

II. 

Altho'  I  love  my  Chloris  mair 
Than  ever  tongue  could  tell, 

My  passion  I  will  ne'er  declare  — 
I  '11  say,  I  wish  thee  well. 

III. 

Tho'  a'  my  daily  care  thou  art, 
And  a'  my  nightly  dream, 

I  '11  hide  the  struggle  in  my  heart, 
And  say  it  is  esteem. 


PRETTY   PEG. 

[A  fragment  by  Burns.     Authorship  oi 
the  whole  not  certain.] 

I. 

As  I  gaed  up  by  yon  gate-end, 
When  day  was  waxin  weary, 

Wha  did  I  meet  come  down  the  street 
But  pretty  Peg,  my  dearie  ? 

II. 

Her  air  so  sweet,  her  shape  complete, 
Wi'  nae  proportion  wanting  — 

The  Queen  of  Love  could  never  move 
Wi'  motion  mair  enchanting  ! 

III. 

With  linked  hands  we  took  the  sands 
Down  by  yon  winding  river ; 

And  O  !  that  hour,  and  shady  bow'r, 
Can  I  forget  it?     Never  ! 


MEG  O'  THE  MILL. 

SECOND  SET. 

["  Much  of  a  peculiar  sort  of  the  old 
Scotch  humor  which  inspired  '  The  Hag- 
gis in  Dunbar'  and  similar  rude  lyrics."  — 
Andrew  Lang.] 

I. 

O,  KEN  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  mill  has 

gotten  ? 
An'  ken  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  mill  ha? 

gotten? 
She 's  gotten  a  coof  wi'  a  claute  o 

siller. 
And  broken  the  heart  o'  the  barley 

miller  ! 

II. 

The  miller  was  strappin,  the  miller 

was  ruddy, 
A  heart  like  a  lord,  and  a  hue  like  a 

lady. 


O   SAW  YE    MY   DEAR,   MY   PHILLY. 


345 


The    laird    was    a    widdifu',    bleerit 

knurl  — 
She  's  left  the  guid  fellow,  and  taen 

the  churl ! 


ni. 

The  miller,  he  hecht  her  a  heart  leal 

and  loving. 
The  laird  did  address  her  wi'  matter 

more  moving : 
A  fine  pacing-horse  wi'  a  clear,  chained 

bridle, 
A  whip  by  her  side,  and  a  bonie  side 

saddle  1 

IV. 

O,  wae  on  the  siller  —  it  is'sae  pre- 
vailing ! 

And  wae  on  the  love  that  is  fixed  on 
a  mailen  ! 

A  tocher's  nae  word  in  a  true  lover's 
pari, 

But  gie  me  my  love  and  a  fig  for  the 
-  warl ! 


PHILLIS   THE   FAIR. 

[Sent  to  Thomson,  August,  1793.    The 
heroine  is  Miss  Phillis  M'Murdo.] 


I. 

While  larks  with  little  wing 

Fann'd  the  pure  air. 
Viewing  the  breathing  Spring, 

Forth  I  did  fare. 
Gay,  the  sun's  golden  eye 
Peep'd  o'er  the  mountains  high  ; 
'  Such  thy  bloom,'  did  I  cry  — 
*  Phillis  the  fair  ! ' 

II. 

In  each  bird's  careless  song, 

Glad,  I  did  share  ; 
While  yon  wild  flowers  among, 

Chance  led  me  there. 


Sweet  to  the  opening  day. 
Rosebuds  bent  the  dewy  spray ; 
*  Such  thy  bloom,'  did  I  say  — 
<  Phillis  the  fair ! ' 


III. 

Down  in  a  shady  walk 
Doves  cooing  were ; 

I  mark'd  the  cruel  hawk 
Caught  in  a  snare. 

So  kind  may  Fortune  be  ! 

Such  make  his  destiny, 

He  who  would  injure  thee, 
Phillis  the  fair  ! 


O  SAW   YE   MY   DEAR,   MY 
PHILLY. 

[Sent  to    Thomson,  Oct.   19,   1794.    A 
degradation  of  "  My  Eppie  Macnab."] 

I. 

O,  SAW  ye  my  Dear,  my  Philly  ? 
O,  saw  ye  my  Dear,  my  Philly  ? 
She  's  down  i'  the  grove,  she 's  wi'  a 
new  love, 
She  winna  come  hame  to  her  Willy. 

II. 

What  says  she.  my  Dear,  my  Philly? 

What  says  she,  my  Dear,  my  Philly  ? 

She  lets  thee  to  wit  she  has  thee  for- 


got. 


And   for 
Willy. 


ever    disowns   thee,   her 


III. 


O,  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Philly  ! 

O,  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Philly  ! 

As  light  as  the  air,  and  fause  as  thou 's 

fair. 
Thou 's   broken   the   heart   o'   thy 

Willy. 


346 


O,   WERT  THOU   IN  THE  CAULD   BLAST. 


'TWAS   NA  HER   BONIE   BLUE 
E^E. 

[Sent  to  Thomson,  April,  1795,  but  not 
published  by  him,] 

I. 

'T  WAS  na  her  bonie  blue  e'e  was  my 

ruin  : 
Fair  tho'  she  be,  that  was  ne'er  my 

undoin. 
'T  was  the  dear  smile  when  naebody 

did  mind  us, 
'T  was  the  bewitching,  sweet,  stoun 

glance  o'  kindness  ! 

II. 

Sair  do  I  fear  that  to  hope  is  denied 

me, 
Sair  do  I  fear  that  despair  maun  abide 

me ; 
But  tho'  fell  Fortune  should  fate  us  to 

sever, 
Queen  shall  she  be  in  my  bosom  for 

ever. 

III. 

Chloris,  I  'm  thine  wi'  a  passion  sin- 

cerest. 
And  thou  hast  plighted  me  love  o'  the 

dearest, 
And   thou  'rt   the   angel    that    never 

can  alter  — 
Sooner  the  sun  in  his  motion  w^ould 

falter ! 


WHY,   WHY  TELL  THY 
LOVER. 

[Written  for  the  tune  "  Caledonian 
Hunt's  Delight."  Burns  writes  to  Thomson, 
July  3,  1795  :  "  Such  is  tlie  d — d  peculiarity 
ot  the  rhythm  of  this  air  that  I  find  it  im- 
possible to  make  another  stanza  to  suit  it.] 


Why.  why  tell  thy  lover 
Bliss  he  never  must  enjoy? 
Why,  why  undeceive  him 
And  give  all  his  hopes  the  lie  ? 


II. 


O,  why,  while  Fancy,  raptur'd,  slum- 
bers, 
'  Chloris,  Chloris,'  all  the  theme. 
Why,  why  wouldst  thou,  cruel, 
Wake  thy  lover  from  his  dream  ? 


THE   PRIMROSE. 

[Altered  from  an  old  English  song,  "  Ask 
Me  Why  I  Send  You  Here."  Sent  to 
Thomson,  1793.] 


I. 


Dost  ask  me,  why  I  send  thee  here 
The  lirstling  of  the  infant  year : 
This  lovely  native  of  the  vale. 
That  hangs  so  pensive  and  so  pale? 

II. 

Look  on  its  bending  stalk,  so  weak. 
That,  each  way    yielding,   doth   not 

break. 
And  see  how  aptly  it  reveals 
The  doubts  and  fears  a  lover  feels. 

III. 

Look  on  its  leaves  of  yellow  hue 
BepearPd  thus  with  morning  dew, 
And    these    will    whisper    in    thine 

ears : — 
'  The  sweets  of  loves  are  wash'd  with 

tears.' 


O,   WERT   THOU   IN   THE 
CAULD   BLAST. 

[Written  during  his  last  illness,  in  honor 
of  Miss  Jessie  Lewars.] 

I. 

O.  WERT  thou  in  the  cauld  blast 
On  yonder  lea,  on  yonder  lea,      i 

My  plaidie  to  the  angry  airt, 

I  'd  shelter  thee,  I  'd  shelter  thee. 


YOUR   FRIENDSHIP.  — LET  LOOVE   SPARKLE. 


347 


Or  did  Misfortune's  bitter  storms 
Around  thee  blaw,  around  thee  blaw. 

Thy  bield  should  be  my  bosom, 
To  share  it  a',  to  share  it  a\ 

The  desert  were  a  Paradise, 

If  thou   wert  there,   if  thou    wert 
there. 
Or  were  I  monarch  of  the  globe, 

Wi'    thee    to    reign,   wi'   thee    to 

II. 

Or  were  I  in  the  wildest  waste, 
Sae  black  and  bare,  sae  black  and 
bare, 

reign, 
The  brightest  jewel  in  my  crown 
Wad   be   my  queen,  wad    be    my 
queen. 

INTERPOLATIONS. 


YOUR  FRIENDSHIP. 

[Included  in  a  poem  of  Clarinda's,  "  Talk 
Not  of  Love."] 


Your  friendship  much  can  make  me 
blest  — 

O,  why  that  bliss  destroy? 
Why  urge  the  only,  one  request 

You  know  I  will  deny? 

II. 

Your  thought,  if  Love  must  harbour 
there, 

Conceal  it  in  that  thought. 
Nor  cause  me  from  my  bosom  tear 

The  very  friend  I  sought. 


FOR  THEE  IS  LAUGHING 
NATURE. 

[Written  to  complete  a  song  by  Clarinda, 
an  additional  quatrain  being  necessary  to 
fill  the  tune.] 

For  thee  is  laughing  Nature  gay. 
For  thee  she  pours  the  vernal  day : 
For  me  in  vain  is  Nature  drest. 
While  Joy  ^s  a  stranger  to  my  breast. 


NO   COLD   APPROACH. 

[Inserted    in    the  song,  "  The    Tears    I 
Shed,"   by    Miss    Cranstoun,   to  complete 


the    last    octave,    and    so    fit    it    for    th? 
tune.] 

No  cold  approach,  no  altered  mien, 
Just   what   would   make   suspicion 
start. 
No  pause  the  dire  extremes  between : 
He  made  me  blest  —  and  broke  my 
heart. 


ALTHO'    HE    HAS    LEFT    ME. 

[Inserted  by  Burns  in  a  song  from  Herd's 
Collection,  "As  I  Was  a  Walking."] 

Altho'  he  has  left  me  for  greed  o'  the 
siller, 
I  dinna  envy  him  the  gains  he  can 
win : 
I  rather  wad  bear  a'  the  lade  o'  my 
sorrow 
Than  ever  liae  acted  sae  faithless 
to  him. 


LET   LOOVE    SPARKLE. 

[Inserted  by  Burns  in  "  Jocky  Fou  and 
Jenny  Fain,"  to  complete  an  octave.] 

Itpiers  seek  they  ken  na  what, 
Features,  carriage,  and  a'  that ; 
Gie  me  love  in  her  I  court. 
Love  to  love  maks  a'  the  sport. 


348 


AS   DOWN  THE   BURN.  — ELEGY  ON  STELLA. 


Let  loove  sparkle  in  her  e'e, 
Let  her  lo^e  nae  man  but  me : 
Thafs  the  tocher  guid  I  prize, 
There  the  luver's  treasure  lies. 


AS   DOWN   THE  BURN. 

[Sent  to  Thomson  in  September,  1793, 
as    a    substitute    for    the    final    stanza    of 


Robert  Crawford's  song,  "  Down  the  Burn, 
Davie."] 

As  down  the  burn  they  took  their  way, 

And  thro'  the  flowery  dale ; 
His  cheek  to  hers  he  aft  did  lay, 

And  love  was  ay  the  tale, 
With  — '  Mary,  when  shall  we  return. 

Sic  pleasure  to  renew  ? ' 
Quoth  Mary  — '  Love,  I  like  the  burn, 

And  ay  shall  follow  you.' 


IMPROBABLES. 


[The  authorship  of  these  verses,  credited  to  Burns  by  many  of  his  editors,  is  not  authenti- 
cated, and  the  quality  of  most  of  them  is  not  worthy  of  his  genius.] 


ON   ROUGH   ROADS. 

[According  to  Scott  Douglas,  "  It  is  very 
familiarly  quoted  in  Ayrshire,  as  a  stray  im- 
promptu of  Burns's."] 

I  'm    now    arriv'd  —  thanks    to    the 
Gods!  — 
Through     pathways     rough     and 
muddy : 
A  certain  sign  that  makin'  roads 

Is  no  this  people's  study. 
Yet,   though    I  'm    no   wi'   scripture 
cramm'd, 
I  'm  sure  the  Bible  says 
That  heedless  sinners  shall  bedamn'd, 
Unless  they  mend  their  ways. 


II. 


ELEGY  ON  STELLA. 

f"  Conceivably  the  piece  may  have  been" 
inspired  by  a  memory  of  Highland  Mary. 
The  authorship  is  dubious.     The  present 
editor  is  inclined   to   regard   the   piece  as 
Burns's  own."  —  Andrew  Lang.] 


Strait  is  the  spot  and  green  the  sod. 
From  whence  my  sorrows  flow ; 

And  soundly  sleeps  the  ever  dear 
Inhabitant  below. 


Pardon  my  transport,  gentle  shade, 
While  o'er  the  turf  I  bow  ! 

Thy  earthly  house  is  circumscrib'd, 
And  solitary  now ! 


III. 


Not  one  poor  stone  to  tell  thy  name 
Or  make  thy  virtues  known  ! 

But  what  avails  to  thee  —  to  me  — 
The  sculpture  of  a  stone  ? 


IV. 

I  '11  sit  me  down  upon  this  turf. 

And  wipe  away  this  tear. 
The  chill  blast  passes  swiftly  by, 

And  flits  around  thy  bier. 

V. 

Dark  is  the  dwelling  of  the  dead. 
And  sad  their  house  of  rest : 

Low  lies  the  head  by  Death's  cold  arm 
In  awful  fold  embraced. 

VI. 

I  saw  the  grim  Avenger  stand 

Incessant  by  thy  side ; 
Unseen  by  thee,  his  deadly  breath 

Thy  lingering  frame  destroyed. 


ELEGY  ON   STELLA. 


349 


VII. 


Pale  grew  the  roses  on  thy  cheek, 
And  withered  was  thy  bloom, 

Till  the  slow  poison  brought  thy  youth 
Untimely  to  the  tomb. 


VIII. 


Thus  wasted  are  the  ranks  of  men  — 
Youth,  health,  and  beauty  fall  ! 

The  ruthless  ruin  spreads  around, 
And  overwhelms  us  all. 


IX. 


Behold  where,  round  thy  narrow  house, 
The  graves  unnumbered  lie  ! 

The  multitude  that  sleep  below, 
Existed  but  to  die. 


X. 


Some  with  the  tottering  steps  of  Age 
Trod  down  the  darksome  way ; 

And  some  in  Youth's  lamented  prime, 
Like  thee,  were  torn  away. 


XI. 


Yet  these,  however  hard  their  fate, 
Their  native  earth  receives  : 

Amid  their  weeping  friends  they  died. 
And  fill  their  fathers'  graves. 


XII. 


From  thy  lov'd  friends,  when  first  thy 
heart. 

Was  taught  by  Heaven  to  glow, 
Far,  far  removed,  the  ruthless  stroke 

Surprised,  and  laid  thee  low. 


XIII. 

At  the  last  limits  of  our  Isle, 
Wash'd  by  the  western  wave, 

Touched   by   thy   fate,   a    thoughtful 
Bard 
Sits  lonely  on  thy  grave  ! 


XIV. 


Pensive  he  eyes,  before  him  spread. 
The  deep,  outstretched  and  vast. 

His  mourning  notes  are  borne  away 
Along  the  rapid  blast. 


XV. 


And  while,  amid  the  silent  dead, 
Thy  hapless  fate  he  mourns. 

His  own  long  sorrows  freshly  bleed, 
And  all  his  grief  returns. 


XVI. 


Like  thee,  cut  off  in  early  youth 
And  flower  of  beauty's  pride. 

His  friend,  his  first  and  only  joy, 
His  much-lov'd  Stella  died. 


XVII. 

Him,  too,  the  stern  impulse  of  Fate 

Resistless  bears  along, 
And  the  same  rapid  tide  shall  whelm 

The  Poet  and  the  Song. 


XVIII. 

The  tear  of  pity,  which  he  shed, 
He  asks  not  to  receive  : 

Let  but  his  poor  remains  be  laid 
Obscurely  in  the  grave  ! 


XIX. 

His  grief-worn  heart  with  truest  joy 
Shall  meet  the  welcome  shock ; 

His  airy  harp  shall  lie  unstrung 
And  silent  on  the  rock. 


XX. 

O  mv  dear  maid,  my  Stella,  when 
Shall  this  sick  period  close. 

And  lead  the  solitary  Bard 
To  his  belov'd  repose? 


350 


POEM   ON   PASTORAL   POETRY. 


POEM    ON   PASTORAL 
POETRY. 

[Currie  (1800),  from  a  Ms.  in  Burns's 
hand;  but  Gilbert  Bums  strongly  doubted 
its  authenticity,  and  internal  evidence  shows 
that  it  may  have  been  written  by  some  con- 
temporary of  Allan  Ramsay.] 


I. 

Hail,  Poesie  !  thou  Nymph  reserved  ! 
In   chase  o'  thee,  what   crowds  hae 

swerved 
Frae  common  sense,  or  sunk  enerv'd 

^Mang  heaps  o'  clavers  ! 
And  och  !  o'er  aft  thy  joes  hae  starv'd 

'Mid  2L  thy  favours  ! 

II. 

Say,  Lassie,  w^hy  thy  train  amang, 
While  loud  the  trump's  heroic  clang, 
And  sock  or  buskin  skelp  alang 

To  death  or  marriage, 
Scarce  ane  has  tried  the  shepherd- 
sang 

But  wi'  miscarriage  ? 

III. 

In  Homer's  craft  Jock  Milton  thrives  ; 
Eschylus'     pen     Will     Shakespeare 

drives ; 
Wee    Pope,    the    knurlin,    till     him 
rives 

Horatian  fame ; 
In  thy  sweet  sang,  Barbauld,  survives 
Even  Sappho's  flame  ! 

IV. 

But  thee,  Theocritus,  wha  matches  ? 
They  're   no    herd's    ballats,   Maro's 

catches ! 
Squire  Pope  but  busks  his  skinklin 
patches 

O'  heathen  tatters ! 
I  pass  by  hunders,  nameless  wretches, 
That  ape  their  betters. 


V. 

In  this  braw  age  o'  wit  and  lear. 
Will   nane    the    Shepherd's    whistle 

mair 
Blaw  sweetly  in  its  native  air 

And  rural  grace. 
And  wd'  the  far-fam'd  Grecian  share 

A  rival  place  ? 

VI. 

Yes  !  there  is  ane  —  a  Scottish  callan  ! 
There 's   ane  !     Come   forrit,   honest 

Allan  ! 
Thou  need  na  jouk  behint  the  hallan, 

A  chiel  sae  clever  ! 
The  teeth  o'  Time  may  gnaw  Tan- 
tallan. 

But  thou 's  for  ever. 

VII. 

Thou  paints  auld  Nature  to  the  nines 
In  thy  sweet  Caledonian  lines  ! 
Nae    gowden    stream    thro'   myrtles 
twines. 

Where  Philomel, 
While    nightly    breezes    sweep    the 
vines, 

Her  griefs  will  tell : 

VIII. 

In  gowany  glens  thy  burnie  strays. 
Where  bonie  lasses  bleach  their  claes, 
Or  trots  by  hazelly  shaws  and  braes 

Wi'  hawthorns  gray. 
Where  blackbirds  join  the  shepherd's 
lays 

At  close  o'  day. 

IX. 

Thy  nn-al  loves  are  Nature's  sel' : 
Nae    bombast    spates    o'    nonsense 

swell, 
Nae   snap   conceits,   but   that   sweet 
spell 

O'  witchin  love, 
That   charm  that  can  the  strongest 
quell, 

The  sternest  move. 


THE  JOYFUL   WIDOWER. 


351 


ON   THE   DESTRUCTION   OF 
DRUMLANRIG   WOODS. 

[First  published  in  the  Scots  Afagazine 
for  July,  1803,  where  it  is  stated  that  the 
verses  had  been  found  "written  on  the 
window-shutter  of  a  small  inn  on  the  banks 
of  the  Nith,"  and  that  they  were  "  supposed 
to  have  been  written  by  Burns."] 


I. 

As  on  the  banks  of  winding  Nith 

Ae  smiling  simmer  morn  I  stray'd. 
And    trac'd    its    bonie    holms    and 
haughs. 

Where   linties   sang,  and  lammies 
play'd, 
I  sat  me  down  upon  a  craig, 

And  drank  my  fill  o'  fancy's  dream, 
When  from  the  eddying  deep  below 

Up  rose  the  Genius  of  the  Stream. 


II. 

Dark  like  the  frowning  rock  his  brow, 

And  troubled  like  his  wintry  wave, 
And  deep  as  sughs  the  boding  wind 

Amang  his  caves  the  sigh  he  gave. 
*  And   come    ye    here,   my   son,'   he 
cried. 

'  To  wander  in  my  birken  shade  ? 
To    muse    some    favourite    Scottish 
theme. 

Or    sing  some  favourite   Scottish 


maid  1 


III. 


*  There  was  a  time,  it 's  nae  lang  syne, 
Ye  might  hae  seen  me  in  my  pride, 
When  a'  my  banks  sae  bravely  saw 
Their  woody  pictures  in  my  tide ; 
When  hanging  beech  and  spreading 
elm 
Shaded   my  stream  sae  clear  and 
cool ; 
And  stately  oaks  their  twisted  arms 
Threw  broad  and  dark  across  the 
pool; 


IV. 

'When,  glinting  thro'  the  trees,  ap- 
pear'd 

The  wee  white  cot  aboon  the  mill, 
And  peaceful  rose  its  ingle  reek. 

That,  slowly  curling,  clamb  the  hill. 
But  now  the  cot  is  bare  and  cauld. 

Its  leafy  bield  for  ever  gane, 
And  scarce  a  stinted  birk  is  left 

To  shiver  in  the  blast  its  lane.' 

V. 

'  Alas  ! '  quoth  I,  '  what  ruefu'  chance 

Has  twin'd  ye  o'  your  stately  trees? 
Has  laid  your  rocky  bosom  bare  ? 

Has  stripped  the  deeding  aff  your 
braes  ? 
Was  it  the  bitter  eastern  blast. 

That  scatters  blight  in  early  spring? 
Or  was 't    the  wirfire  scorch'd   their 
boughs? 

Or  canker-worm  wi'  secret  sting  ? ' 

VI. 

'  Nae    eastlin    blast,'   the   Sprite   re- 
plied — 
'  It  blaws  nahere  sae  fierce  and  fell, 
And  on  my  dry  and  halesome  banks 
Nae    canker-worms    get    leave    to 
dwell : 
Man  !  cruel  man  ! '  the  Genius  sigh'd. 
As  through  the  cliffs  he  sank  him 
down : 
'  The   worm    that   gnaw'd   my  bonie 
trees. 
That  reptile  wears  a  Ducal  crown.' 


THE   JOYFUL   WIDOWER. 

[This  performance  (No.  98  in  Johnson, 
1787)  is  attributed  to  Burns,  but  he  never 
acknowledged  it.  There  are  many  black- 
letter  ballads  —  most  of  them  unsavory 
enough  —  on  scolding  wives.] 


I  MARRIED  with  a  scolding  wife 
The  fourteenth  of  November : 


352 


THE  TREE  OF   LIBERTYc 


She  made  me  weary  of  my  life 
By  one  unruly  member. 

Long  did  I  bear  the  heavy  yoke, 
And  many  griefs  attended, 

But  to  my  comfort  be  it  spoke, 
Now,  now  her  life  is  ended  ! 


II. 

We  liv'd  full  one-and-twenty  years 

A  man  and  wife  together. 
At  length  from   me  her   course   she 
steer'd 

And  gone  I  know  not  whither. 
Would  I  could  guess,  I  do  profess : 

I  speak,  and  do  not  flatter, 
Of  all  the  women  in  the  world, 

1  never  would  come  at  her  ! 


III. 

Her  body  is  bestowed  well  — 

A  handsome  grave  does  hide  her. 
But  sure  her  soul  is  not  in  Hell  — 

The  Deil  would  ne'er  abide  her  ! 
I  rather  think  she  is  aloft 

And  imitating  thunder. 
For  why?  —  Methinks    I    hear   her 
voice 

Tearing  the  clouds  asunder  ! 


WHY   SHOULD   WE   IDLY 
WASTE  OUR  PRIME. 

[Attributed  by  Cunningham  to  Burns.] 


Why  should  we  idly  waste  our  prime 

Repeating  our  oppressions  ? 
Come  rouse  to  arms  !     'Tis  now  the 
time 
To  punish  past  transgressions. 
'Tis    said   that    Kings    can    do    no 
wrong  — 
Their  murderous  deeds  deny  it, 
And,   since   from  us   their   power  is 
sprung, 
We  have  a  right  to  try  it. 


Now  each  true  patriot's   song  shall 

be:  — 
*  Welcome  Death  or  Libertie  ! ' 

II. 

Proud  Priests  and  Bishops  we  11  trans- 
late 

And  canonize  as  Martyrs ; 
The  guillotine  on  Peers  shall  wait ; 

And  Knights  shall  hang  in  garters. 
Those  Despots   long   have  trode  us 
down. 

And  Judges  are  their  engines  : 
Such  wretched  minions  of  a  Crown 

Demand  the  people's  vengeance  ! 
To-day  't  is  theirs.  To-morrow  we 
Shall  don  the  Cap  of  Libertie ! 

III. 

The  Golden  Age  we'll  then  revive : 

Each  man  will  be  a  brother ; 
In  harmony  we  all  shall  live, 

And  share  the  earth  together, 
In  Virtue  train"d.  enlighten'd  Youth 

Will  love  each  fellow-creature  ; 
And  future  years  shall  prove  the  truth 

That  Man  is  good  by  nature : 
Then   let  us   toast  with  three  times 

three 
The  reign  of  Peace  and  Libertie  ! 


THE   TREE   OF   LIBERTY. 

[Chambers  credits  these  verses  to  Burns 
on  the  authority  of  a  Ms.  then  in  the  posses- 
sion of  Mr.  James  Duncan,  Morefield,  Glas- 
gow. The  Ms.  has  not  been  heard  of  since 
1838.] 


Heard  ye  o'  the  Tree  o'  France, 
And  wat  ye  what 's  the  name  o  't  ? 

Around  it  a'  the  patriots  dance  — 
Weel  Europe  kens  the  fame  o  't  ! 

It    stands    where    ance    the   Bastile 
stood  — 
A  prison  built  by  kings,  man, 


THE  TREE  OF  LIBERTY. 


353 


When  Superstition's  hellish  brood 
Kept     France    in    leading-strings, 
man. 

II. 

Upo'  this  tree  there  grows  sic  fruit, 

Its  virtues  a'  can  tell,  man  : 
It  raises  man  aboon  the  brute, 

It  mak's  him  ken  himsel",  man ! 
Gif  ance  the  peasant  taste  a  bit, 

He's  greater  than  a  lord,  man, 
And  wi'  the  beggar  shares  a  mite 

O'  a'  he  can  afford,  man. 

III. 

This  fruit  is  worth  a'  Afric's  wealth  : 

To  comfort  us  't  was  sent,  man, 
To  gie  the  sweetest  blush  o'  health. 

And  mak'  us  a'  content,  man  ! 
It  clears  the  een,  it  cheers  the  heart, 

Mak's  high  and  low  guid  friends, 
man. 
And  he  wha  acts  the  traitor's  part. 

It  to  perdition  sends,  man. 

rv. 

My  blessings  ay  attend  the  chiel, 

Wha  pitied  Gallia's  slaves,  man. 
And  staw  a  branch,  spite  o'  the  Deil, 

Frae  'yont  the  western  waves,  man  ! 
Fair  Virtue  water'd  it  wi'  care, 

And  now  she  sees  wi'  pride,  man. 
How    weel    it    buds    and    blossoms 
there, 

Its  branches  spreading  wide,  man. 


But  vicious  folk  ay  hate  to  see 

The  works  o'  Virtue  thrive,  man  : 
The  courtly  vermin  's  banned  the  tree, 

And  grat  to  see  it  thrive,  man  ! 
King  Louis  thought  to  cut  it  down. 

When  it  was  unco  sma\  man ; 
For   this   the  watchman   crack'd  his 
crown. 

Cut  aff  his  head  and  a',  man 

2  A 


VI. 

A  wicked  crew  syne,  on  a  time. 

Did  tak'  a  solemn  aith,  man. 
It  ne'er  should  flourish  to  its  prime  — 

I    wat    they    pledged    their    faith, 
man  ! 
Awa  they  gaed  wi'  mock  parade, 

Like  beagles  hunting  game,  man, 
But  soon  grew  weary  o'  the  trade. 

And  wish'd  they  'd  been  at  hame, 
man. 

VII. 

Fair  Freedom,  standing  by  the  tree, 

Her  sons  did  loudly  ca\  man. 
She  sang  a  sang  o'  Liberty, 

Which   pleas'd   them    ane   and  a', 
man. 
By  her  inspired,  the  new-born  race 

Soon  drew  the  avenging  steel,  man. 
The    hirelings   ran  —  her    foes   gied 
chase, 

And  bang'd  the  despot  weel,  man. 


VIII. 

Let  Britain  boast  her  hardy  oak. 

Her  poplar,  and  her  pine,  man  ! 
Auld   Britain  ance   could   crack   her 
joke, 
And    o'er    her    neighbours   shine, 
man  ! 
But  seek  the  forest  round  and  round. 

And  soon  't  will  be  agreed,  man. 
That  sic  a  tree  can  not  be  found 
'Twixt    London    and    the   Tweed, 
man. 


IX. 

Without  this  tree  alake  this  life 

Is  but  a  vale  o'  woe,  man, 
A  scene  o'  sorrow  mix'd  wi'  strife, 

Nae  real  joys  we  know,  man ; 
We  labour  soon,  we  labour  late. 

To  feed  the  titled  knave,  man, 
And  a'  the  comfort  we  're  to  get. 

Is  that  ayont  the  grave,  man. 


354 


TO   A  KISS.  — TO   THE  OWL. 


X. 

Wi'  plenty  o'  sic  trees.  I  trow, 

The   warld   would   live    in    peace, 
man. 
The   sword   would    help    to   mak'   a 
plough, 

The  din  o'  war  wad  cease,  man. 
Like  brethren  in  a  common  cause. 

We'd  on  each  other  smile,  man ; 
And  equal  rights  and  equal  laws 

Wad  gladden  every  isle,  man. 

XI. 

Wae  worth  the  loon  wha  wadna  eat 

Sic  halesome,  dainty  cheer,  man  ! 
I  'd  gie  the  shoon  frae  atf  my  feet. 

To  taste  the  fruit  o  't  here,  man  ! 
Syne  let  us  pray,  Auld  England  may 

Sure  plant  this  far-famed  tree,  man  ; 
And  blythe  we  '11  sing,  and  herald  the 
day 

That  gives  us  liberty,  man. 


TO    A   KISS. 

[Published  in  a  Liverpool  paper  called 
the  "  Kaleidoscope,"  and  there  attributed 
to  Burns.  It  originally  appeared  in  "  The 
Oracle,"  Jan.  29,  1796.  The  authorship  is 
practically  unknown.] 

I. 

H  UMID  seal  of  soft  affections, 
Tend'rest  pledge  of  future  bliss, 

Dearest  tie  of  young  connections, 
Love's  first  snow-drop,  virgin  kiss  ! 

II. 

Speaking  silence,  dumb  confession. 
Passion's  birth  and  infant's  play, 

Dove-like  fondness,  chaste  confession. 
Glowing  dawn  of  brighter  day  ! 

III. 

Sorrowing  joy,  adieu's  last  action, 
Ling'ring  lips  — no  more  must  join  ! 

Words  can  never  speak  affection, 
Thriilino:  and  sincere  as  thine  ! 


DELIA. 


AN   ODE. 


["The  lines,  if  authentic,  are  obviously  a 
parody."  —  Andrew  Lang.] 


Fair  the  face  of  orient  day. 
Fair  the  tints  of  op'ning  rose  : 

But  fairer  still  my  Delia  dawns. 
More  lovely  far  her  beauty  blows. 

II. 

Sweet  the  lark's  wild-warbled  lay, 
Sweet  the  tinkling  rill  to  hear : 

Bui.  Delia,  more  delightful  still 
Steal  thine  accents  on  mine  ear. 


III. 

The  flower-enamoured  busy  bee 
Tlie  rosy  banquet  loves  to  sip  ; 

Sweet  the  streamlet's  limpid  lapse 
To  the  sun-brown'd  Arab's  lip : 


IV. 


But,  Delia,  on  thy  balmy  lips 
Let  me,  no  vagrant  insect,  rove  ! 

O,  let  me  steal  one  liquid  kiss  ! 

For  O  !   my  soul  is  parch'd   with 
love  ! 


TO   THE   OWL. 

[Found  among  Burns's  Ms.,  in  his  own 
handwriting,  with  occasional  interlineations, 
such  as  occur  in  all  his  primitive  effusions, 
but  attributed  by  him  to  John  M'Creddie, 
of  whom  nothing  is  known.] 


Sad  bird  of  night,  what  sorrow  calls 
thee  forth, 
To  vent   thy  plaints    thus    in   the 
midnijjht  hour? 


THE  VOWELS. 


355 


Is  it  some  blast  that  gathers  in  the 
north. 
Threatening  to  nip  the  verdure  of 
thy  bovvT  ? 

II. 

Is  it,  sad  owl,  that  Autumn  strips  the 
shade. 
And  leaves  thee  here,  unsheltered 
and  forlorn  ? 
Or  fear  that  Winter  will  thy  nest  in- 
vade ? 
Or  friendless  Melancholy  bids  thee 
mourn? 

III. 

Shut   out,   lone   bird,    from    all    the 
featherd  train. 
To  tell  thy  sorrows  to  th'  unheed- 
ing gloom, 
No   friend    to   pity  when   thou   dost 
complain, 
Grief  all  thy  thought,  and  solitude 
thy  home, 

IV. 

Sing  on,  sad  mourner  !     I  will  bless 
thy  strain, 
And  pleas'd  in  sorrow^  listen  to  thy 
song. 
Sing  on,  sad  mourner  !     To  the  night 
complain, 
While  the  lone  echo  wafts  thy  notes 
alono;. 


Is  Beauty  less,  when  down  the  glow- 
ing cheek 
Sad,  piteous  tears  in  native  sorrows 
fall? 
Less  kind  the  heart  when  anguish  bids 
it  break  ? 
Less  happy  he  who  lists  to  Pity's 
call? 

VI. 

Ah  no,  sad  owl !  nor  is  thy  voice  less 
sweet, 


That    Sadness    tunes    it,  and    that 

Grief  is  there? 
That    Spring's   gay   notes,    unskilled, 

thou  can't  repeat. 
That  Sorrow  bids  thee  to  the  gloom 

repair  ! 

VII. 

Nor  that  the  treble  songsters  of  the 
day. 
Are   quite    estranged,   sad   bird  of 
night,  from  thee  ! 
Nor  that  the  thrush  deserts  the  even- 
ing spray. 
When  darkness  calls  thee  from  thy 
reverie  ! 

VIII. 

From  some  old  tower,  thy  melancholy 
dome, 
While   the   gray  walls  and   desert 
solitudes 
Return  each  note,  responsive  to  the 
gloom 
Of  ivied  coverts  and  surrounding 
woods : 

IX. 

There  hooting,  I  will  list  more  pleased 
to  thee. 
Than  ever  lover  to  the  nightingale, 
Or   drooping  wretch,  oppress'd  with 
misery. 
Lending  his  ear  to  some  condohng 
tale  ! 


THE   VOWELS. 


A   TALE. 


[Found  among  the  poet's  papers.] 

'T  WAS  where  the  birch  and  sounding 
thong  are  ply'd. 

The  noisy  domicile  of  pedant  pride; 

Where  Ignorance  her  darkening  va- 
pour throws. 

And  Cruelty  directs  the  thickening 
blows  ! 


3S6 


ON  THE  ILLNESS   OF  A  FAVOURITE  CHILD. 


Upon  a  time,  Sir  ABC  the  great, 
In  all  his  pedagogic  powers  elate. 
His  awful  chair  of  state  resolves  to 

mount, 
And   call   the   trembling   Vowels   to 

account. 

First  enter'd  A.  a  grave,  broad,  solemn 

wight. 
But,  ah  !   deform'd,  dishonest  to  the 

sight  ! 
His  twisted  head  lookM  backward  on 

his  way, 
And   flagrant    from    the   scourge   he 

grunted,  ai! 

Reluctant,  E  stalk'd  in  ;  a  piteous  case, 
The  justling  tears  ran  down  his  hon- 
est face  ! 
That  name,  that  well-worn  name,  and 

all  his  own. 
Pale,  he    surrenders   at   the   tyrant's 

throne  ! 
The  Pedant  stifles  keen  the  Roman 

sound 
Not  all  his  mongrel  diphthongs  can 

compound ; 
And   next   the   title   following    close 

behind. 
He  to  the   nameless,  ghastly  wretch 

assigned. 

The  cobwebb'd  gothic  dome  re- 
sounded, Y  ! 

)  n  sullen  vengeance,  I  disdained  reply  : 

The  Pedant  swung  his  felon  cudgel 
round. 

And  knockM  the  groaning  vowel  to 
the  ground  ! 

in  rueful  apprehension  enter'd  O, 

Thewailing  minstrel  of  despairingwoe: 

Th'  Inquisitor  of  Spain  the  most  ex- 
pert, 

Might  there  have  learnt  new  mysteries 
of  his  art. 

So  grim,  deform'd,  with  horrors  en- 
tering, U 

His  dearest  friend  and  brother  scarcely 
knew  ! 


As    trembling   U   stood    staring    aL 

aghast, 
The  Pedant  in  his  left  hand  clutch'd 

him  fast, 
In  helpless  infants'  tears  he  dipp'd 

his  right. 
Baptized  him  eii,  and  kick'd  him  froni 

his  sight. 


ON   THE   ILLNESS   OF   A 
FAVOURITE   CHILD. 

["  It  is  hard  to  believe  that  Burns,  though 
his  taste  in  Englisli  was  none  of  the  finest, 
could  ever  transcribe  such  immitigable  rub- 
bish."—  Centenary  Edition.'] 


Now  health  forsakes  that  angel  face. 

Nae  mair  my  dearie  smiles. 
Pale  sickness  withers  ilka  grace, 

And  a'  my  hopes  beguiles. 


II. 

The  cruel  Powers  reject  the  prayer 

I  hourly  mak'  for  thee  : 
Ye  Heavens  !  how  great  is  my  despair  ! 

How  can  I  see  him  die  ! 


ON    THE    DEATH    OF    A    FA- 
VOURITE  CHILD. 

[Burns's  daughter,  Elizabeth  Riddell, 
died  in  the  autumn  of  1795.  But  this  fact 
can  scarce  be  regarded  as  proof  of  the 
authenticity  of  the  verses.] 


O,  SWEET  be  thy  sleep  in  the  land  of 
the  grave, 
My  dear  little  angel,  for  ever  ! 
For  ever  ?  —  O  no  !   let  not  man  be 
a  slave. 
His  hopes  from  existence  to  sever  ! 


A  TIPPLING  BALLAD. 


357 


II. 

Though  cold  be  the  clay,  where  thou 
pillow'st  thy  head 
In  the  dark,  silent  mansions  of  sor- 
row, 
The  spring  shall  return  to  thy  low, 
narrow  bed. 
Like  the  beam  of  the  day-star  to- 
morrow. 

III. 

The  flower-stem  shall  bloom  like  thy 
sweet  seraph  form 
Ere  the  spoiler  had  nipt  thee  in 
blossom, 
When  thou  shrank  frae  the  scowl  of 
the  loud  winter  storm, 
And    nestled    thee    close   to   that 
bosom. 

IV. 

O,  still  I  behold  thee,  all  lovely  in 
death. 
Reclined  on  the  lap  of  thy  mother. 


When    the    tear-trickle  bright,  when 
the  short  stifled  breath 
Told  how  dear  ye  were  ay  to  each 
other. 


My  child,  thou  art  gone  to  the  home 
of  thy  rest. 
Where    suffering    no    longer    can 
harm  thee  : 
Where  the  songs  of  the  Good,  where 
the  hymns  of  the  Blest 
Through  an  endless  existence  shall 
charm  thee  ! 


VI. 

While  he,  thy  fond  parent,  must  sigh- 
ing sojourn 
Through  the  dire  desert  regions  of 
sorrow. 
O'er  the  hope  and  misfortune  of  being 
to  mourn, 
And  sigh  for  this  life's  latest  mor- 
row. 


POEMS  OF  DOUBTFUL  AUTHENTICITY.. 

The  following  poems  are  not  considered  sufificiently  authenticated  —  or  perhaps  for  other 
reasons  —  to  be  included  in  the  "Centenary  Edition."  They  are  printed  either  in  the 
Wallace-Chambers  edition  or  in  the  edition  of  Andrew  Lang,  or  in  both,  as  well  as  in 
some  of  the  earlier  editions.  The  notes  prefixed  to  each  poem  will  sufficiently  explain  the 
occasion  of  their  production. 


A   TIPPLING    BALLAD. 

ON  THE  DUKE  OF  BRUNSWICK'S 
BREAKING  UP  HIS  CAMP,  AND 
THE  DEFEAT  OF  THE  AUSTRIANS, 
BY   DUMOURIER,   NOVEMBER,    1 792. 

["  The  title  explains  the  occasion  :  Burns's 
political  sentiments  supply  the  rest."  —  AN- 
DREW Lang.  Parts  of  this  ballad  are 
printed  in  the  Chambers  and  Globe  Edi- 
tions.] 

When  Princes  and  Prelates, 
And  hot-headed  zealots, 
A'  Europe  had  set  in  a  low,  a  low, 


The  poor  man  lies  down, 

Nor  envies  a  crown, 
And  comforts  himself  as  he  dow,  as 

he  dow\ 
And  comforts  himself  as  he  dow. 

The  black-headed  eagle, 

As  keen  as  a  beagle. 
He  hunted  o'er  height  and  o'er  howe, 

In  the  braes  o'  Gemappe, 

He  fell  in  a  trap. 
E'en  let  him  come  out  as  he  dow,  dow, 

dow. 
E'en  let  him  come  out  as  he  dow. 


358 


THE   WREN'S   NEST.  — WHEN   PLEASURE   FASCINATES. 


But  truce  with  commotions, 
And  new-fangled  notions, 

A  bumper,  I  trust  you  '11  allow  ; 

Here 's  George  our  good  kingr 
And  Charlotte  his  queen, 

And  lang  may  they  ring  as  they  dow, 
dow,  dow. 

And  lang  may  they  ring  as  they  dow. 


THE   WREN'S   NEST. 


["  Burns  communicated  to  Johnson,  for 
the  fifth  volume  of  the  '  Museum,'  the 
following  fragment  of  a  nursery  ballad  on 
the  loves  of  Robin  and  the  Wren,  taken 
from  Jean  Armour's  singing.  It  appears 
to  be  part  of  another  fragment  on  same 
subject,  preserved  by  David  Herd."  — 
William  Scott  Douglas.] 


The  Robin  to  the  Wren's  nest 

Cam  keekin  in,  cam  keekin  in ; 
O  weel  's  me  on  your  auld  pow. 

Wad  ye  be  in,  wad  ye  be  in  ? 
Thou  's  ne'er  get  leave  to  lie  without, 

And  I  within,  and  I  within. 
As  lang 's  I  hae  an  auld  clout 

To  rowe  ye  in,  to  rowe  ye  in. 


MY   GIRL   SHE'S   AIRY. 

["  The  date  is  1784 ;  the  girl  may  be  any- 
body. The  remaining  lines  of  this  piece 
have  never  been  printed  in  full." —  ANDREW 
Lang.     Printed  also  in  Chambers.] 

My  girl  she  's  airy,  she  's  buxom  and 

gay ; 
Her  breath  is  as  sweet  as  the  blossoms 

in  May ; 
A  touch  of  her  lips  it  ravishes  quite  : 
She 's     always    good   natur'd,     good 

humor'd,  and  free ; 
She  dances,  she  glances,  she  smiles 

upon  me ; 
I  never  am  happy  when  out  of  her 

sight. 


THE   PLOUGHMAN'S    LIFE. 

["  Possibly  this  is  a  scrap  from  tradition, 
which  Burns  may  have  written  down,  with 
no  idea  of  claiming  it  for  his  own."  —  AN- 
DREW Lang.     Printed  also  in  Chambers.] 

As  I  was  a-wand'ring  ae  morning  in 

spring, 
I    heard    a    young    ploughman    sae 

sweetly  to  sing ; 
And  as  he  was  singin',  thir  words  he 

did  say,  — 
There 's  nae  life  like  the  ploughinan's 

in  the  month  o'  sweet  May. 

The  lav'rock   in    the  morning  she  '11 

rise  frae  her  nest. 
And  mount  i'  the  air  wi'  the  dew  on 

her  breast, 
And  wi'  the  merry  ploughman  she  '11 

whistle  and  sing, 
And  at  night  she  '11  return  to  her  nest 

back  again. 


SOUND    BE    HIS    SLEEP. 

[Said  to  have  been  found  on  a  window 
in  the  Cross  Keys  Inn  at  Falkirk,  where 
Burns  had  spent  the  night.  Printed  in  the 
Chambers  Edition.] 

Sound   be   his  sleep  and  blithe   his 
morn 

That  never  did  a  lassie  wrang ; 
Who  poverty  ne'er  held  in  scorn  — 

For  misery  ever  tholed  a  pang. 


WHEN    PLEASURE   FASCI- 
NATES. 

[In  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  Jan.  31,  1796. 
Printed  in  the  Chambers  Edition.] 

When  pleasure  fascinates  the  mental 
sight. 
Affliction  purifies  the  visual  ray, 


DEAR  SIR,  OUR  LUCKY  HUMBLY  BEGS. 


359 


Religion  hails  the  drear,  the  untried, 
night. 
And  shuts,  for  ever  shuts  !    life's 
doubtful  day. 


ON  THOMAS  KIRKPATRICK, 
LATE  BLACKSMITH  IN 
STOOP. 

[Printed  in  the  Chambers  Edition.] 

Here  lies,  'mang  ither  useless  matters, 
Auld  Thomas  wi'  his  endless  clatters. 


SICK   OF  THE   WORLD. 

[Enclosed  in  a  letter  to  Clarinda,  Jan.  21, 
1788.     Printed  in  the  Chambers  Edition.] 

Sick  of  the  world  and  all  its  joy, 
My  soul  in  pining  sadness  mourns  ; 
Dark  scenes  of  woe  my  mind  employ, 
The  past  and  present  in  their  turns. 


THE   PHILOSOPHER'S  STONE. 

["  This  anonymous  quatrain  appeared  in 
the  '  Dumfries  Weekly  Journal '  of  July  7, 
1795.  Circumstantial  and  internal  evidence 
are  proof  that  it  is  from  the  pen  of  Burns."  — 
Chambers  Edition?^ 

Long  have  the  learned  sought,  with- 
out success. 

To  find  what  you  alone,  O  Pitt, 
possess  ! 

Thou  only  hast  the  magic  power  to 
draw 

A  guinea  from  a  head  not  worth  a 
straw. 


NOW,  GOD   IN   HEAVEN. 

[Enclosed  in  a  letter  to  M.  Fyffe,  Sur- 
geon, Edinburgh.  Printed  in  the  Chambers 
Edition.] 

Now,  God  in  heaven  bless  Reekie's 
town 
With  plenty,  joy,  and  peace  ! 


And  may  her  wealth  and  fair  renown 
To     latest    times    encrease  !  !  !  — 
Amen. 


LEEZIE   LINDSAY. 

[Printed  in  the  Chambers  Edition.] 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Hielands,  Leezie 
Lindsay? 
Will  ye  go  to  the  Hielands  wi'  me? 
Will  ye  go  to  the    Hielands,   Leezie 
Lindsay, 
My  pride  and  my  darling  to  be? 

IT   MAY  — DO  — MAUN  — DO. 

[Enclosed  in  a  letter  to  John  Arnot,  of 
Dalquhatswood,  Esq.,  April,  1786.  Printed 
in  the  Chambers  Edition.] 

It  may  —  do  —  maun  —  do.    Sir,   wi' 

them  wha 
Maun   please   the    great    folk    for   a 

wame-fou ; 
For  me,  sae  laigh  I  need  na  bow. 
For,  Lord  be  thankit !  I  can  plough  : 
And  when  I  downa  yoke  a  naig. 
Then,  Lord  be  thankit  !   I  can  beg.  — 


DEAR    SIR,   OUR  LUCKY 
HUMBLY    BEGS. 

[Enclosed  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Alexander 
Findlater,  June  17,  1791.  Printed  in  the 
Chambers  Edition.] 

Dear  Sir,  Our  Lucky  humbly  begs 
Ye  '11  prie  her  caller,  new-laid  eggs  : 
Lord  grant  the  cock  may  keep  her  legs 
Aboon  the  chuckles ; 

Nae  cursed,  clerical  excise 
On  honest  Nature's  laws  and  ties : 
Free  as  the  vernal  breeze  that  flies 
At  early  day, 


36o 


COME   FILL   ME  A   BUMPER. 


We  'd  tasted  Nature's  richest  joys 
But  stint  or  stay. 

But  as  this  subject 's  something  kittle. 
Our  wisest  way's  to  say  but  little, 
Yet,  while  my  Muse  is  at  her  mettle, 

I  am,  most  fervent, 
Or  may  I  die  upon  a  whittle  ! 

Your  friend  and  servant, 
Robert  Burns. 


I   LOOK  TO   THE  WEST. 

[Enclosed  in  a  note  to  Alexander  Cun- 
ningham, March  12,  1791.  Printed  in  the 
Chambers  Edition.] 

I  LOOK  to  the  west  when  I  gae  to  rest, 

That   happy  my   dreams    and   my 

slumbers  may  be  ; 

For  far  in  the  west  lives  he  I  lo'e  best  — 

The  lad  that  is  dear  to  my  babie 

and  me  ! 


AH,  CHLORIS  ! 

[The  two  following  stanzas  were  enclosed 
in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Alexander  Findlater,  Sep- 
tember, 1794.  Printed  in  the  Chambers 
Edition.] 

"  Ah,  Chloris,  could  I  now  but  sit 
As  unconcerned  as  when 

Your  infant  beauty  could  beget 
Nor  happiness  nor  pain." 


KIST  YESTREEN,   KIST    YES- 
TREEN. 

"  KiST  yestreen,  kist  yestreen, 

O  as  I  was  kist  yestreen, 
I  '11  ne'er  forget  while  the  hollin  grows 

green. 
The  bonie  sweet  lassie  I  kist  yestreen." 


COME   FILL   ME    A    BUMPER. 

[Adapted    by   Burns.      Printed    in  the 
Chambers  Edition.] 

Come  fill  me  a  bumper,  my  jolly, 
brave  boys, 

Let's  have  no  more  female  impert'- 
nence  and  noise ; 

I  've  tried  the  endearments  and  witch- 
craft of  love. 

And  found  them  but  nonsense  and 
whimsies,  by  Jove. 

C/wriis. 

Truce  with   your  love  !    no  more  of 

your  love ; 
The  bottle  henceforth  is  my  mistress, 

by  Jove. 


EXTEMPORE   LINES. 

[In  answer  to  a  card  from  an  intimate 
friend  of  Burns,  wishing  him  to  spend  an 
hour  at  a  tavern.] 


The    king's    poor  blackguard   slave 
am  I, 

And  scarce  dow  spare  a  minute ; 
But  I  '11  be  with  you  by  and  bye, 

Or  else  the  devil 's  in  it  ! 


THANKSGIVING    FOR    A 
TIONAL   VICTORY. 


NA- 


["  Adapted  from  hnes  '  on  the  Thanks- 
giving Day  for  Perth  and  Preston,  17th 
June,  1716'  (Maidment's  '  Scottish  Pasquils,' 
1868).  The  victory  Burns  celebrated  was 
doubtless  Howe's,  off  Ushant,  ist  June, 
1794."  —  Chambers,  revised  by  William 
Wallace.] 

Ye  hypocrites,  are  these  your  pranks  ? 
To  murder  men  and  give  God  thanks  ? 
Desist,    for    shame  !        Proceed    no 

further : 
God   won't   accept    your  thanks   for 

murther. 


THE   HERMIT  OF  ABEREELDY. 


361 


POEMS    REJECTED    BY   LATEST   EDITORS   OF 

BURNS. 

The  following  poems  have  been  printed  in  nearly  all  the  earlier  editions  of  Rums,  and 
many  of  them  are  reprinted  in  late  editions,  as  being  undoubtedly  the  poet's  productions. 
Other  editors  have  been  more  critical,  and  have  rejected  them  as  being  either  spurious, 
or  not  verified.  But  as  the  readers  of  13urns  have  been  so  long  accustomed  to  see  them  in 
the  pages  ot  their  favorite  poet,  it  has  been  considered  best  to  print  them,  with  this  expla- 
nation. The  volumes  in  which  they  have  appeared  are  the  Kilmarnock  (William  Scott 
Douglas),  the  edition  edited  by  Alexander  Smith,  Oxford  (edited  by  Logie  Robertson, 
M.  A.),  the  London  edition  of  Bliss,  Sands,  &  Co.,  and  the  Albion  edition,  published  by 
F.  Warne  &  Co. 


THE  HERMIT  OF  ABERFELDY. 

FIRST    COLLECTED    IN    HOGG    AND 
MOTHERWELL'S  EDITION,   1 834-35. 

["  Very  few  readers  of  Burns  can  be 
persuaded  that  these  verses  were  composed 
by  him.  They  were  furnished  to  Mother- 
well by  Peter  Buchan  of  Peterhead.  The 
poet  reached  Aberfeldy  towards  evening, 
on  30th  August,  1787,  staved  half  an  hour, 
and  was  back  to  Dunkeld  for  supper.  He 
described  the  Falls  in  undying  song,  as  all 
the  world  knows;  but  when  were  these 
heavy  lines  composed  ?  The  term,  '  desert 
drear,'  used  in  the  opening  verse,  shows 
that  this  Hermit  belonged  to  some  other 
quarter  than  Aberfeldy,  where  all  is  as  '  light- 
some '  as  the  poet's  song." — WlLLlAM 
ScoTf  Douglas.] 


Whoe'er  thou  art,  these  lines  now 

reading, 
Think    not,  though   from  the  world 

receding, 
i  joy  my  lonely  days  to  lead  in 
This  desert  drear  — 
That  fell  remorse,  a  conscience  bleed- 
ing 

Hath  led  me  here  ! 

II. 

No  thought  of  guilt  my  bosom  sours  ; 
Free-wiird  I  fled  from  courtly  bowers  ; 


For  well  I  saw  in  halls  and  towers 
That  lust  and  pride  — 

The     arch-fiend's     dearest,     darkest 
powers, 

In  state  preside. 

III. 

I  saw  mankind  with  vice  incrusted ; 
I  saw  that  honor's  sword  was  rusted.  — 
That  few  for  aught  but  folly  lusted, — 
That  he  was  still  deceived  who  trusted 

To  love  or  friend  ; 
And  hither  came,  with  men  disgusted. 

My  life  to  end. 


IV. 

In  this  lone  cave,  in  garments  lowly, 

Alike  a  foe  to  noisy  folly. 

And  brow-bent,  gloomy  melancholy, 

I  wear  away 
My  life,  and  in  my  office  holy 

Consume  the  day. 


V. 

This  rock  my  shield  when  storms  are 

blowing. 
The  Hmpid  streamlet  yonder  flowing 
Supplying  drink,  the  earth  bestowing 

My  simple  food ; 
But  few  enjoy  the  calm  I  know  in 

This  desert  wood. 


362 


TO   CLARINDA.  — THE   RUINED   MAID'S  LAMENT. 


VI. 


Content  and  comfort  bless  me  more  in 
This  grot,  than  e'er  I  felt  before  in 
A   palace  —  and   with  thoughts   still 


soarmg: 


To  God  on  high, 
Each  night  and  morn  with  voice  im 


ploring, 


This  wish  I  sigh 


VII. 

'  Let  me,  O  Lord  !  from  life  retire, 
Unknown  each  guilty,  worldly  fire, 
Remorse's  throb,  or  loose  desire, — 

And  when  I  die. 
Let  me  in  this  belief  expire,  — 

To  God  I  fly.' 

VIII. 

Stranger  !  if  full  of  youth  and  riot, 
And  yet  no  grief  has  marr'd  thy  quiet, 
Thou  haply  throw'st  a  scornful  eye  at 

The  hermit's  prayer ; 
But  if  thou  hast  good  cause  to  sigh  at 

Thy  fault  or  care  — 

IX. 

If  thou  hast  known  false  love's  vexa- 
tion, 
Or  hast  been  exiled  from  thy  nation. 
Or  guilt  affrights  thy  contemplation, 

And  makes  thee  pine, 
Oh  !  how  must  thou  lament  thy  sta- 
tion, 

And  envy  mine  ! 


PASTORAL   VERSES  TO 
CLARINDA. 

["This  piece  —  omitted  in  all  collections 
of  the  poet's  works  that  we  are  aware  of, 
except  Blackie's  edition  of  1861  —  is  not 
contained,  although  apparently  referred  to, 
in  the  '  Clarinda  Correspondence,'  edited 
by  the  lady's  grandson,  in  1843.  Tlie  veises 
seem  to  bear  some  marks  of  authenticity, 


although  certainly  they  are  not  in  the  poet's 
best  style."  —  William  Scott  Douglas.] 


I. 

Before  I  saw  Clarinda's  face, 
My  heart  was  blythe  and  gay, 

Free  as  the  wind,  or  feathered  race 
That  hop  from  spray  to  spray  • 

II. 

But  now,  dejected  I  appear, 
Clarinda  proves  unkind ; 

I,  sighing,  drop  the  silent  tear, 
But  no  relief  can  find. 


III. 

In  plaintive  notes,  my  lays  rehearse 
The  woes  which  fail  to  move ; 

And  every  tree  records  a  verse 
In  praise  of  her  I  love  : 

IV. 

But  she,  ungrateful,  shuns  my  sight  — 

My  faithful  love  disdains, 
My  vows  and  tears  her  scorn  excite  — 

Another  happy  reigns. 

V. 

Ah,  though  my  looks  my  love  betray, 

I  envy  his  success  ; 
Yet   love   to  friendship    shall    give 
way,  — 

I  cannot  wish  it  less. 


THE  RUINED  MAID'S  LAMENT. 

["  Allan  Cunningham  has  not  the  ques- 
tionable merit  of  this  fabrication  :  to  William 
Motherwell  we  must  accord  that  honor. 
Tempted  by  Allan's  success,  he  tried  his 
hand  on  doctoring  a  piece  at  p.  51  of  the 
'Crochallan'  volume.  Verses  i,  4,  and  5 
are  entirely  Motherwell's  own  ;  while  2,  3,  6, 
and  7  are  very  nearly  Burns's  words.  In 
consideration  of  the  pathetic  beauty  of  the 
song  we  think  it  proper  to  reprint  Mother- 


THE   BANKS   OF  NITH.— HAl'l'Y   FRIENDSHIP. 


363 


well's     adaptation." 
Douglas.] 


William     Scott 


I. 


O  MEIKLE  do  I  me,  fause  love, 

O  saiily  do  I  rue, 
That    e'er    I    heard    your    flattering 
tongue. 

That  e'er  your  face  I  knew. 


II. 


O  I  hae  tint  my  rosy  cheeks, 
Likewise  my  waist  sae  sma' ; 

And  I  hae  lost  my  lightsome  heart 
That  little  wist  a  fa\ 


III. 


Now  I  maun  thole  the  scornfu^  sneer 

O'  mony  a  saucy  quine  ; 
When  gin  the  truth  were  a'  but  kent, 

Her  life 's  been  waur  than  mine. 


IV. 


Whene'er  my  father  thinks  on  me 

He  stares  into  the  wa' ; 
My  mither,  she  has  ta'en  the  bed 

Wi'  thinking  on  my  fa\ 


V. 

Whene'er  I  hear  my  father's  foot, 
My  heart  wad  burst  wi'  pain  ; 

Whene'er  I  meet  my  mither's  e'e. 
My  tears  rin  down  like  rain. 

VI. 

Alake  I  sae  sweet  a  tree  as  love 
Sic  bitter  fruit  should  bear  ! 

Alake  I  that  e'er  a  merry  heart 
Should  draw  a  sauty  tear  ! 

VII« 

But  Heaven's  curse  will  blast  the  man 

Denies  the  bairn  he  got. 
Or  leaves  the  merry  lass  he  lo'ed, 

To  wear  a  ragged  coat. 


THE   BANKS   OF    NITH. 

A   BALLAD. 

[Printed  in   Globe    Edition   (Alexander 
Smith)  and  Bliss  &  Sands'.] 


To   thee,  lovM   Nith,   thy  gladsome 
plains, 
Where  late  wi'  careless  thought  1 
rang'd. 
Though    prest  wi'  care  and   sunk  in 
woe. 
To  thee  I  bring  a  heart  unchang'd. 

II. 

I  love  thee,  Nith,  thy  banks  and  braes. 

Tho'  mem  ry  there  my  bosom  tear ; 
For  there  he  rov'd  that  brake  my 
heart, 

Yet  to  that  heart,  ah,  still  how  dear  ! 


HAPPY   FRIENDSHIP. 

[Printed  in  edition  of  Bliss,  Sands,  Sc  Co.] 

I. 

Here  around  the  ingle  bleezing, 
Wha  sae  happy  and  sae  free  ; 

Tho*  the  northern  wind  blaws  freez- 
ing, 
Frien'ship  warms  baith  you  and  me 

C/iorus. 

Happy  we  are  a*  thegither, 
Happy  we'll  be  yin  an'  a', 

Time  shall  see  us  a'  the  blyther, 
Ere  we  rise  to  gang  awa'. 

II. 

See  the  miser  o'er  his  treasure 
Gloating  wi'  a  greedy  e'e  ! 

Can  he  feel  the  glow  o'  pleasure 
That  around  us  here  we  see? 


364 


COME   REDE   ME.  — ACCEPT  THE   GIFT. 


III. 


Can  the  peer,  in  silk  and  ermine, 
Ca'  his  conscience  half  his  own  ; 

His   claes    are   spun    an'   edged   wi' 
vermin, 
Tho'  he  Stan'  afore  a  throne  ! 


IV. 


Thus  then  let  us  a'  be  tassing 
Aff  our  stoups  o'  gen'rous  flame  ; 

An'  while  roun'  the  board  't  is  pass- 
ing, 
Raise  a  sang  in  frien'ship's  name. 


V. 

Frien'ship  mak's  us  a'  mair  happy, 
Frien'ship  gi'es  us  a'  delight ; 

Frien'ship  consecrates  the  drappie, 
Frien'ship  brings  us  here  to-night. 

Chorus. 

Happy  we  've  been  a'  thegither. 

Happy  we  've  been  yin  an'  a', 
Time  shall  find  us  a'  the  blyther 

When  we  rise  to  gang  awa'. 


COiME   REDE   ME,   DAME. 

[Printed  in  edition  of  Bliss,  Sands,  &  Co., 
and  Albion  Edition.] 


I. 

Come  rede  me,  dame,  come  tell  me, 
dame. 

And  nane  can  tell  mair  truly, 
What  color  maun  the  man  be  of, 

To  love  a  woman  duly. 

II. 

The  carlin  clew  baith  up  and  down. 
And  leugh  and  answer'd  ready, 

I  leara'd  a  sang  in  Annandale, 
A  dark  man  for  my  lady. 


III. 


But  for  a  country  quean  like  thee, 
Young  lass,  I  tell  thee  fairly. 

That  wi"  the  white  I  've  made  a  shift, 
And  brown  will  do  fu'  rarely. 


IV. 


There 's  mickle  love  in  raven  locks, 
The  flaxen  ne'er  grows  youden, 

There 's  kiss  and  hause   me   in   the 
brown. 
And  glory  in  the  gowden. 


VERSES   WRITTEN   UNDER 
VIOLENT   GRIEF. 

["We  have  little  faith  in  the  authenticity 
of  this  production,  which  is  said  to  have 
first  been  printed  in  the  Sun  newspaper, 
in  April,  1823.  It  is  supposed  to  have 
been  originally  written  on  a  presentation 
copy  of  his  Kilmarnock  volume,  in  the 
summer     of     1786."  —  WILLIAM     ScOTT 

Douglas.] 


Accept  the  gift  a  friend  sincere 
Wad  on  thy  worth  be  pressin' ; 
Remembrance  oft  may  start  a  tear, 
But  oh  !  that  tenderness  forbear, 
Though  't  wad  my  sorrows  lessen. 

II. 

My  morning  raise  sae  clear  and  fair, 

I  thought  sair  storms  wad  never 
Bedew  the  scene  :  but  grief  and  care 
In  wildest  fury  hae  made  bare 
My  peace,  my  hope,  for  ever  ! 

III. 

You  think  I  'in  glad  ;  oh,  I  pay  weel 

For  a'  the  joy  I  borrow, 
In  solitude  —  then,  then  I  feel 
I  canna  to  mysel'  conceal 

My  deeply-ranklin'  sorrow. 

IV. 

Farew^ell  !  within  thy  bosom  free 
A  sigh  may  whiles  awaken ; 


AS   I   WAS   A-WANDERING.  — COULD   AUGHT   OF   SONG. 


365 


A  tear  may  wet  thy  laughin'  e'e, 
For    Scotia's    son  —  ance    gay    like 
thee  — 
Now     hopeless,    comfortless,    for- 
saken ! 


AS   I   WAS   A-WANDERING. 

["  Burns  has  merely  made  some  changes 
upon  an  old  song." — CHAMBERS,  r^t/.  by 
Wallace.] 

I. 

As  I  was  a-wandering  ae  midsummer 
e'enin', 
The   pipers   and    youngsters   were 
making  their  game ; 
Amang   them   I   spied    my  faithless 
fause  lover, 
Which  bled  a'  the  wounds  o'  my 
dolor  again. 


Chorus. 

Weel,   since   he    has    left    me,   may 
pleasure  gae  wi'  him  ; 
I  may  be  distressed,  but  I  winna 
complain  ; 
I  flatter  my  fancy  I  may  get  anither. 
My  heart  it  shall  never  be  broken 
for  ane. 

II. 

I  couldna  get  sleeping  till  dawin  for 
greeting 
The   tears   trickled  down  like  the 
hail  and  the  rain  : 
Had  I  na  got  greeting  my  heart  wad 
ha'  broken. 
For  oh  !  love  forsaken  's  a  torment- 
ing pain. 

III. 

Although  he  has  left  me  for  greed  o' 
the  siller. 


I  dinna  envy  him  the  gains  he  can 

win  ; 
I  rather  wad  bear  a'  the  lade  o"  my 

sorrow 
Than  ever  hae  acted  sac  faithless 

to  him.i 


COULD   AUGHT   OF   SONG. 


["This  elegant  composition  is  so  want- 
ing in  some  of  the  characteristic  features  of 
Burns's  lyrics,  that,  by  many,  it  has  been 
doubted  to  be  a  product  of  his  muse,  and 
some  have  suggested  Dr.  Beattie  as  its 
probable  author.  Burns's  Ms.,  however, 
is  still  in  the  possession  of  Johnson's  repre- 
sentatives by  purchase,  and  his  name  is 
affixed  to  the  song  in  the  fifth  volume  of  the 
"  Museum."  -  WILLIAM  SCOTT  DOUG- 
LAS.] 


I. 

Could    aught  of   song  declare   my 
pains. 
Could  artful  numbers  move  thee, 
The    rnuse    should    tell,    in    labor'd 
strains, 
O  Mary,  how  I  love  thee  ! 
They    who    but     feign    a    wounded 
heart, 
May  teach  the  lyre  to  languish  ; 
But  what  avails  the  pride  of  art. 
When   wastes    the    soul  with   an- 
guish ? 


II. 


Then  let  the  sudden  bursting  sigh, 

The  heart-felt  pang  discover ; 
And  in  the  keen,  yet  tender  eye, 

O  read  th'  imploring  lover ! 
For  well  I  know,  thy  gentle  mind 

Disdains  art's  gay  disguising ; 
Beyond  what  Fancy  e'er  refin'd. 

The  voice  of  Nature  prizing. 


*  The  last  stanza  appears  on  p.  347  of  this  edition. 


366     ON    HIMSELF.  — LASS,   WHEN   YOUR   MITHER   IS    FRAE   HAME. 


ON    HIMSELF. 
[Printed  in  Globe  Edition.] 

Here  comes  Burns 

On  Rosinante ; 
She  's  d —  poor, 

But  he 's  d —  canty  ! 


EPITAPH   ON  THE   POET'S 
DAUGHTER. 

[Printed  in  edition  of  Bliss,  Sands,  &  Co., 
and  in  Globe  Edition.] 

Here  lies  a  rose,  a  budding  rose, 

Blasted  before  its  bloom ; 
Whose  innocence  did  sweets  disclose 

Beyond  that  flower\s  perfume. 
To  those  who  for  her  loss  are  grieved, 

This  consolation 's  given  — 
She 's  from  a  world  of  woe  relieved, 

And  blooms  a  rose  in  heaven. 


I   MET   A   LASS,   A   BONIE 
LASS. 

["  This  song  is  made  up  from  two  verses 
of  a  song  in  the  '  Crochallan  '  volume."  — 
William  Scott  Douglas.] 

I  MET  a  lass,  a  bonie  lass, 

Coming  o'er  the  braes  o'  Couper, 
Bare  her  leg  and  bright  her  een, 

And  handsome  ilka  bit  about  her. 
Weel  I  wat  she  was  a  quean 

Wad  made  a  body's  mouth  to  water ; 
Our  Mess  John,  wi'  his  lyart  pow, 

His  haly  lips  wad  Hckit  at  her. 


ON   MARIA   DANCING. 

[Printed  in  the  edition  of  Bliss,  Sands, 
&  Co.,  and  in  the  Oxford  Edition.] 

How  gracefully  Maria  leads  the  dance ! 
She  's  life  itself.     I  never  saw  a  foot 


So  nimble  and  so  elegant ;  it  speaks, 
And  the  sweet  whispering  poetry  it 

makes 
Shames  the  musician. 


JENNY   M'CRAW. 

[Printed  in  the  Globe  and  Oxford  Edi- 
tions. Scott  Douglas  says  :  "  The  original 
song,  at  page  102  of  the  '  Crochallan '  vol- 
ume, consists  of  three  verses  to  the  tune  of 
'  The  Bonie  Moor-hen,'  of  which  Allan's  six 
lines  are  a  weak  travesty."] 

Jenny  M'Craw,  she  has  ta'en  to  the 

heather, 
Say,  was  it  the  covenant  carried  her 

thither ; 
Jenny  M'Craw  to  the  mountains  is 

gane, 
Their  leagues  and  their  covenants  a' 

she  has  ta'en ; 
My  head  and  my  heart,  now  quo'  she, 

are  at  rest, 
And  as  for  the  lave,  let  the  Deil  do 

his  best. 


LASS,   WHEN    YOUR    MITHER 
IS    FRAE   HAME. 

[Extracted  from  Burns's  "  Common-Place 
Book,"  but  the  authenticity  is  doubtful. 
Printed  in  Globe  and  Oxford  Editions.] 


Lass,  when  your  mither  is  frae  hame, 

Might  I  but  be  sae  bauld 
As  come  to  your  bower- window. 

And  creep  in  frae  the  cauld. 
As  come  to  your  bower- window, 

And  when  it 's  cauld  and  wat. 
Warm  me  in  thy  sweet  bosom  ; 

Fair  lass,  wilt  thou  do  that  ? 

II. 

Young  man,  gif  ye  should  be  sae  kind, 
When  our  gudewife  's  frae  hame, 

As  come  to  my  bower-window, 
Whare  I  am  laid  my  lane, 


LAMENT.  — O   \\AT  YE   WHAT   MY    MINNIE   DID? 


367 


And  warm  thee  in  my  bosom  — 

But  I  will  tell  thee  what, 
The  way  to  me  lies  through  the  kirk, 

Young  man,  do  you  hear  that  ? 


LAMENT. 


[Written  at  a  time  when  the  poet  was 
about  to  leave  Scotland.  Printed  in  the 
Globe  and  Oxford  Editions.] 


O'er  the  mist-shrouded  cliffs  of  the 
lone  mountain  straying. 
Where  the  wild  winds  of  winter  in- 
cessantly rave. 
What  woes  wring  my  heart  while  in- 
tently surveying 
The  storm's  gloomy  path   on  the 
breast  of  the  wave. 


II. 

Ye  foam-crested  billows,  allow  me  to 
wail, 
Ere  ye  toss  me  afar  from  my  lov'd 
native  shore ; 
Where    the    flower    which    bloom'd 
sweetest  in  Coila's  green  vale, 
The  pride  of  my  bosom,  my  Mary 's 
no  more. 

III. 

No  more  by  the  banks  of  the  stream- 
let we  *11  wander, 
And  smile  at  the  moon's  rimpled 
face  in  the  wave; 
No   more  shall  my  arms  cling  with 
fondness  around  her, 
For  the  dew-drops  of  morning  fall 
cold  on  her  grave. 


IV. 

No  more  shall  the  soft  thrill  of  love 
warm  my  breast, 
I  haste  with  the  storm  to  a  far  dis- 
tant shore ; 


Where    unknown,    unlamented,    my 
ashes  shall  rest. 
And  joy  shall  revisit  my  bosom  no 
more. 


O  GIE  MY  LOVE  BROSE, 
BROSE. 

["  This  is  the  chorus  and  one  of  five  verst-s 
—  greatly  altered  —  of  a  song  in  the  '  Croch- 
allan '  volume."  Printed  in  the  Globe  Edi- 
tion.] 

O  GIE  my  love  brose,  brose, 

Gie  my  love  brose  and  butter ; 
For  nane  in  Carrick  or  Kyle 

Can  please  a  lassie  better. 
The  lav'rock  lo'es  the  grass. 

The  muirhen  lo'es  the  heather; 
But  gie  me  a  braw  moonlight. 

And  me  and  my  love  together. 


O   WAT    YE    WHAT    MY    MIN- 
NIE  DID  ? 

[Printed  in  the  Globe  and  Oxford  Edi- 
tions. Scott  Douglas  considers  the  verses 
spurious.] 

I. 

O  WAT  ye  what  my  Minnie  did. 

My  Minnie  did,  my  Mmnie  did, 
O  w^at  ye  what  my  Minnie  did, 

On  Tysday  'teen  to  me,  jo  ? 
She  laid  me  in  a  saft  bed, 

A  saft  bed,  a  saft  bed, 
She  laid  me  in  a  saft  bed. 

And  bade  gudeen  to  me,  jo. 

II. 

An'  wat  ve  what  the  parson  did. 

The  parson  did.  the  parson  did. 
An'  wat  ye  what  the  parson  did. 

A'  for  a  penny  fee,  jo? 
He  loosed  on  me  a  lang  man, 

A  mickle  man.  a  Strang  man. 
He  loosed  on  me  a  lan^  man. 

That  might  hae  worried  me,  jo 


368 


O   WHA  IS   SHE  THAT  LO'ES   ME.  — EVAN   BANKS. 


III. 

An'  I  was  but  a  young  thing, 

A  young  thing,  a  young  thing, 
An'  I  was  but  a  young  thing, 

Wi'  nane  to  pity  me,  jo. 
I  wat  the  kirk  was  in  the  wyte, 

In  the  wyte,  in  the  wyte, 
To  pit  a  young  thing  in  a  fright, 

An'  loose  a  man  on  me,  jo. 


O   WHA   IS   SHE   THAT  LO'ES 
ME? 

[Printed  in  the  Globe,  Oxford,  and  Al- 
bion Editions.] 

I. 

O  WHA  is  she  that  lo'es  me, 
And  has  my  heart  a-keeping? 

O  sweet  is  she  that  lo'es  me, 
As  dews  o'  simmer  weeping. 
In  tears  the  rose-buds  steeping. 

Chorus. 

O  that 's  the  lassie  o'  my  heart. 

My  lassie  ever  dearer ; 
O  thafs  the  queen  o'  womankind. 

And  ne'er  a  ane  to  peer  her. 


II. 

If  thou  shalt  meet  a  lassie. 

In  grace  and  beauty  charming. 

That  e'en  thy  chosen  lassie, 

Erewhile  thy  breast  sae  warming, 
Had  ne'er  sic  powers  alarming ; 
O  that's,  etc. 


III. 

If  thou  hadst  heard  her  talking. 
And  thy  attentions  plighted, 

That  ilka  body  talking. 
But  her  by  thee  is  slighted. 
And  thou  art  all  delighted  ; 
O  that 's,  etc. 


IV. 

If  thou  hast  met  this  fair  one, 
When  frae  her  thou  hast  parted. 

If  every  other  fair  one, 

But  her,  thou  hast  deserted. 
And  thou  art  broken-hearted ; 
O  that's,  etc. 


EVAN    BANKS. 

["  Dr.  Currie  inserted  this  in  his  first 
edition,  but  withdrew  it  on  finding  it  was 
the  composition  of  Helen  Maria  Williams. 
Burns  had  copied  it :  his  Ms.  is  now  in  the 
British  Museum."  —  Globe  Edition.] 


I. 

the 


doom 


my 


soul 


Slow  spreads 

desires. 

The  sun  from  India's  shore  retires  : 
To  Evan  Banks  with  temperate  ray. 
Home  of  my  youth,  he  leads  the  day 


II. 


Oh  Banks  to  me  for  ever  dear  ! 
Oh  stream,  whose  murmur  still  I  hear  I 
All,  all  my  hopes  of  bliss  reside 
Where  Evan  mingles  with  the  Clyde. 


III. 


And  she,  in  simple  beauty  drest. 
Whose  image  lives  within  my  breast ; 
Who  trembhng  heard  my  parting  sigh. 
And  long  pursued  me  with  her  eye : 


with 


IV. 

heart  unchang'd  as 


Does  she, 
mine, 

Oft  in  the  vocal  bowers  recline  ? 
Or,  where  yon  grot  o'erhangs  the  tide, 
Muse  while  the  Evan  seeks  the  Clyde? 

V. 

Ye  lofty  Banks  that  Evan  bound, 
Ye  lavish  woods  that  wave  around, 
And   o'er  the  stream  your  shadows 

throw, 
Which  sweetly  winds  so  far  below ; 


ON  BURNS'S    HORSE  BEING   IMPOUNDED. 


369 


VI. 

What  secret  charm  to  memVy  brings, 
All  that  on  Evan's  border  springs  ! 
Sweet   Banks  !  ye   bloom   by  Mary's 

side : 
Blest  stream  !  she  views  thee  haste  to 

Clyde. 

VII. 

Can  all  the  w-ealth  of  India's  coast 
Atone  for  years  in  absence  lost ! 
Return,  ye  moments  of  delight. 
With  richer  treasures  bless  my  sight ! 

VIII. 

Swift  from  this  desert  let  me  part. 
And  fly  to  meet  a  kindred  heart  ! 
No  more  may  aught  my  steps  divide 
From  that  dear  stream  which  flows  to 
Clyde. 


POWERS  CELESTIAL!  WHOSE 
PROTECTION. 

["  These  fine  verses  have  no  mark  in  the 
*  Museum  '  to  indicate  their  authorship  ; 
but,  among  the  poet's  Mss.  after  his  death, 
they  were  found  with  the  title,  '  A  Prayer  for 
Mary.'  Internal  evidence  shows  that  the 
date  of  composition  w^as  in  1786,  between 
the  final  parting  of  the  lovers  in  May,  and 
the  time  fi.xed  for  the  poet's  departure 
for  the  West  Indies,  some  four  or  five 
months  thereafter."  —  WILLIAM  SCOTT 
Douglas.] 


Powers  celestial !  whose  protection 

Ever  guards  the  virtuous  fair, 
While  in  distant  climes  I  wander, 

Let  my  Mary  be  your  care  : 
Let  her  form  so  fair  and  faultless  — 

Fair  and  faultless  as  your  own  — 
Let  my  Mary's  kindred  spirit 

Draw  your  choicest  influence  down  ! 

II. 

Make  the  gales  you  waft  around  her 
Soft  and  peaceful  as  her  breast ; 

2B 


Breathing  in  the  breeze  that  fans  her, 
Soothe  her  bosom  into  rest : 

Guardian  angels  !  O  protect  her, 
When  in  distant  lands  1  roam  ; 

To  realms  unknown  while  fate  exiles 
me. 
Make  her  bosom  still  my  home  ! 


O    CAN    YE    SEW   CUSHIONS  ? 

["  The  beautiful  air,  along  with  the  nurs- 
ery words  of  this  song,  were  communicated 
by  Burns  to  Johnson,  and,  by  the  vocalism 
of  Urbani,  it  soon  became  highly  popular." 
—  William  Scott  Douglas.] 

O  CAN  ye  sew  cushions  ?  and  can  ye 
sew  sheets? 
And  can  ye  sing   bal-lu-loo  when 
the  bairn  greets  ? 
And  hee  and  baw  birdie,  and  hee  and 
baw  lamb  ! 
And  hee  and  baw  birdie,  my  bonie 
wee  lamb  ! 
Hee,  O  !  wee,  O  !  what  would  I  do 
wi'  you  ? 
Black 's  the  life  that  I  lead  wi'  you  ; 
Mony  o'  you,  little  for  to  gie  you ; 
He,  O  !  wee,  O  I  what  would  I  do 
wi'  you  ? 


ON     BURNS'S     HORSE     BEING 
IMPOUNDED, 

AND   HIS   MASTER    BROUGHT    BEFORE 
THE   MAYOR. 

["  This  epigram  is  of  doubtful  authentic- 
ity, for  we  do  not  hear  of  the  poet  ever  hav- 
ing been  at  Carlisle  except  once  —  namely, 
on  31st  Mav,  1787,  and  the  day  following, 
while  on  his  Border  tour."  —  WILLIAM 
Scott  Douglas.] 

Was  e'er  puir  poet  sae  befitted. 

The  maister  drunk  —  the  horse  com- 
mitted. 

Puir  harmless  beast  !  tak'  thee  nae 
care, 

Thou  'It  be  a  horse  when  he  's  nae 
mair  (mayor). 


370 


HUGHIE   GRAHAM.  — KATHARINE  JAFFRAY. 


HUGHIE   GRAHAM. 

["Cromek  assures  us  that  two  verses  of 
'  Hughie  Graham  '  are  wholly  by  Burns,  and 
that  his  corrections  are  visible  in  some 
others."  — William  Scott  Douglas.] 

O  LOWSE  my  right  hand  free,  he  says, 
And   put  my  braid   sword  in  the 
same ; 

He's  no'  in  Stirling  toun  this  day, 
Dare  tell  the  tale  to  Hughie  Graham. 

They  've   ta'en   him    to  the  gallows- 
knowe,  — 

He  looket  to  the  gallows-tree ; 
Yet  never  the  color  left  his  cheek, 

Nor  ever  did  he  blink  his  e'e. 

O  hand  your  tongue,  my  father  tiear, 
And  wi'  your  weeping  let  it  be  ; 

Thy  weeping 's  sairer  on  my  heart, 
Than  a'  that  they  can  do  to  me. 

And  ye  may  tell  my  kith  and  kin, 
I  never  did  disgrace  their  bluid ; 

And  when   they    meet   the    bishop's 
cloak 
To  mak'  it  shorter  by  the  huid. 


THE   SELKIRK   GRACE. 

["Allan  Cunningham  records  that  this 
very  characteristic  '  Grace  before  meat ' 
was  uttered  at  the  table  of  the  Earl  of  Sel- 
kirk, while  on  his  tour  through  Galloway 
with  his  friend  Syme  in  July,  1793."  — 
William  Scott  Douglas.] 

Some  hae  meat  and  canna  eat. 
And  some  wad  eat  that  want  it ; 

But  we  hae  meat,  and  we  can  eat, 
And  sae  the  Lord  be  thanket. 

DAMON   AND    SYLVIA. 

["  This  pretty  double-verse  appears  to 
have  been  first  published,  in  its  present 
modified  form,  in  the  '  Edinburgh  Maga- 
zine'  for  January,  1818.  It  is  the  middle 
one  ot  three  double  verses  of  a  very  warm 
character,   which    narrate    the    exploits   of 


Damon  and  Sylvia  on  a  Summer  morn  — 
this  latter  being  the  title  of  the  piece  in  the 
'  Crochallan  '  volume,  p.  49."  —  WILLIAM 
Scott  Douglas.  Printed  in  Globe  and 
Oxford  Editions.] 

Yon  wandering  rill  that  marks  the  hill 

And  glances  o"er  the  brae.  Sir, 
Slides  by  a  bower  where  many  a  flower 

Sheds  fragrance  on  the  day,  Sir; 
There  Damon  lay  with  Sylvia  gay, 

To  love  they  thought  no  crime.  Sir ; 
The  wild-birds  sang,  the  echoes  rang, 

While  Damon's   heart  beat   time, 
Sir.  / 


WHAN   I    SLEEP   I    DREAM. 

[Printed  in  Globe  and  Oxford  Editions.] 
I. 

Whan  I  sleep  I  dream, 

Whan  I  wauk  I  'm  eerie, 
Sleep  I  canna  get, 

For  thinkin'  o'  my  dearie. 

II. 

Lanely  night  comes  on, 

A'  the  house  are  sleeping, 
I  think  on  the  bonie  lad 

That  has  my  heart  a  keeping. 
Ay  waukin,    O,   waukin   ay  and 

wearie. 
Sleep  I  canna  get,  for  thinkin'  o' 
my  dearie. 

III. 

Lanely  night  comes  on, 
A'  the  house  are  sleeping, 

I  think  on  my  bonie  lad. 

An'  I  bleer  my  een  wi'  greetin'  ! 
Ay  waukin,  etc. 


KATHARINE   JAFFRAY. 

[Printed  in  Globe,  Oxford,  and  Albion 
Editions.] 

I. 

There  liv'd  a  lass  in  yonder  dale, 
And  down  in  yonder  glen.  O  ; 


BRAW   LADS   OF   GALLA   WATKR.  —  LIBERTY. 


371 


And  Katharine  Jaffray  was  lier  name, 
Weel  known  to  many  men,  O. 


II. 


Out  came  the  Lord  of  Lauderdale, 
Out  frae  the  south  countrie,  O, 

All  for  to  court  this  pretty  maid. 
Her  bridegroom  for  to  be,  O. 


III. 


He 


's   teird   her  father  and    mother 
baith, 
As  I  hear  sindry  say,  O  ; 
But  he  has  na  telPd  the  lass  herseP ; 
Till  on  her  wedding  day,  O. 

IV. 

Then  came  the  Laird  o'  Lochinton 
Out  frae  the  English  border, 

All  for  to  court  this  pretty  maid, 
All  mounted  in  good  order. 


BRAW  LADS   OF   GALLA 
WATER. 

["This  is  in  Johnson's  second  vol.,  p. 
131,  copied  verbatim  from  Herd's  Collec- 
tion, 1776  (vol.  ii.  p.  202),  so  that  it  is  quite 
an  error  to  include  it  in  Burns's  works  as 
some  editors  have  done.  Burns  in  his  notes, 
records  a  '  concluding  verse,'  which  appears 
very  like  his  own  manufacture  :  — 

'  And  ay  she  cam'  at  e  ening  fa' , 
Ainang  the  yelloiu  broom,  sae  eerie, 

To  seek  the  snood  0'  silk  she  tint, — 
She  f and  na  that,  but  met  her  dearie.'  " 

—  William  Scott  Douglas.] 
[Printed  in  the  Globe  Edition.] 

Chorus . 

Braw,  braw  lads  of  Galla  Water ; 

O  braw  lads  of  Galla  V¥ater ! 
I  '11  kilt  my  coats  aboon  my  knee. 

And    follow   my  love  through  the 
water. 


Sae  fair  her  hair,  sae  brent  her  brow, 
Sae  bonie  blue  her  een,  my  dearie  ; 

Sae    white    her  teeth,  sae  sweet  her 
mou', 
The  mair  I  kiss  she  's  ay  my  dearie. 

II. 

O'er  yon  bank  and  o'er  yon  brae, 
O'er  yon  moss  amang  the  heather ; 

I  '11  kilt  my  coats  aboon  my  knee. 
And  follow  mv  love  throujjh   the 


water. 


III. 


Down  amang  the  broom,  the  broom, 
Down  amang  the  broom,  my  dearie. 

The  lassie  lost  a  silken  snood. 

That   cost   her  mony  a  blirt   and 
bleary. 

Chorus. 

Braw,  braw  lads  of  Galla  Water ; 

O  braw  lads  of  Galla  Water ! 
I  '11  kilt  my  coats  aboon  my  knee, 

And   follow  my  love  through   the 
water. 


LIBERTY. 


A  FRAGMENT. 


[Printed  in  the  Globe  Edition.] 

Thee,   Caledonia,   thy    wild    heaths 

among. 
Thee,   famed   for   martial   deed   and 
sacred  song, 
To    thee    I    turn    with    swimming 
eyes ; 
Where  is  that  soul  of  Freedom  fled  ? 
Immingled  with  the  mighty  dead  ! 
Beneath    the   hallow'd   turf  where 
Wallace  lies. 
Hear  it  not,  Wallace,  in  thy  bed  of 
death  ! 
Ye     babbling     winds,    in     silence 
sweep ; 


372     THE   LAST   BRAW  BRIDAL.  — YE   HAE  LIEN  A'  WRANG,  LASSIE. 


Disturb  not  ye  the  heroes  sleep, 
Nor  give  the  coward  secret  breath. 
Is    this    the    power   in    Freedom's 

war, 
That  wont  to  bid  the  battle  rage  ? 
JBehoId  that  eye  which  shot  immortal 
hate, 
Crushing     the    despofs     proudest 
bearing, 
That  arm  which,  nerved  with  thunder- 
ing fate, 
Brav'd  usurpation's  boldest  daring  ! 
One   quench'd  in   darkness  like  the 

sinking  star, 
And  one  the  palsied  arm  of  tottering, 
powerless  age. 


THE   LAST   BRAW   BRIDAL. 

[Printed  in  the  Globe  and  Albion  Edi- 
:tions.] 

The  last  braw  bridal  that  I  was  at, 

'T  was  on  a  Hallowmass  day, 
And  there  was   routh   o'  drink   and 
fun. 
And  mickle  mirth  and  play. 
The  bells  they  rang,  and  the  carlins 
sang. 
And  the  dames  danced  in  the  ha' ; 
The  bride  went  to  bed  wi'  the  silly 
bridegroom, 
In  the  midst  o'  her  kimmers  a'. 


THERE   CAME   A   PIPER. 

[Printed  in  the  Globe  and  Albion  Edi- 
tions.] 

There  came  a  piper  out  o'  Fife, 
I  watna  what  they  ca'ed  him  ; 

He  play'd  our  cousin  Kate  a  spring, 
When  fient  a  body  bade  him. 

And  ay  the  mair  he  hotch'd  an'  blew, 
The  mair  that  she  forbade  him. 


THERE'S   NAETHIN    LIKE 
THE   HONEST   NAPPY. 

[Printed  in  the  Globe  Edition.] 

There  's    naethin  like    the    honest 

nappy ! 
Whaur  '11  ye  e'er  see  men  sae  happy. 
Or  women  sonsie,  saft  an'  sappy, 

'Tween  morn  an'  morn, 
As  them  whalike  to  taste  the  drappie 

In  glass  or  horn. 

I  've  seen  me  daez't  upon  a  time ; 
I  scarce  could  wink  or  see  a  styme ; 
Just  ae  hauf  mutchkin  does  me  prime, 

Ought  less  is  little, 
Then  back  I  rattle  on  the  rhyme 

As  gleg 's  a  whittle  ! 


WHEN    I    THINK    ON   THE 
HAPPY   DAYS. 

[Printed  in  the  Globe  and  Albion  Edi- 
tions.] 

When  I  think  on  the  happy  days 
I  spent  wi'  you,  my  dearie ; 

And  now  what  lands  between  us  lie. 
How  can  I  be  but  eerie  ! 

How  slow  ye  move,  ye  heavy  hours. 
As  ye  were  wae  and  weary  ! 

It  was  na'sae  ye  glinted  by 
When  I  was  wi'  my  dearie. 


YE    HAE    LIEN    A'   WRANG, 
LASSIE. 

[Printed  in  the  Globe  and  Albion   Edi- 
tions.] 

Ye  hae-lien  a'  wrang,  lassie, 

Ye  've  lien  a'  wrang  ; 
Ye  've  lien  in  an  unco  bed, 

And  wi'  a  fremit  man. 


JOHNNY   PEEP.  — ON   RUINS  OF   LINCLUDEN   ABBEY. 


373 


O  ance  ye  danced  upon  the  knowes, 
And  ance  ye  lightly  sang  — 

But  in  herrying  o'  a  bee  byke, 
I  "m  rad  ye  've  got  a  stang. 


JOHNNY   PEEP. 

[Printed  in  the  Albion  Edition.] 

Here  am  I,  Johnny  Peep : 
1  saw  three  sheep, 

And  these  three  sheep  saw  me ; 
Half-a-crown  a-piece 
Will  pay  for  their  fleece, 

And  so  Johnny  Peep  gets  free. 


INNOCENCE. 

[Allan  Cunningham  gives  the  lines  as  by 
Burns,  and  extols  them  highly.  They  are, 
however,  probably  quoted  from  some  older 
poet.] 

—  Innocence 

Looks  gaily-smiling  on ;  while  rosy 
pleasure 

Hides  young  desire  amid  her  flowery 
wreath. 

And  pours  her  cup  luxuriant ;  man- 
tling high 

The  sparkling  heavenly  vintage,  Love 
and  Bliss  ! 


VERSES 


ON  AN   EVENING  VIEW  OF   THE   RUINS 
OF    LINCLUDEN   ABBEY. 

["  These  beautiful  ruins  are  on  the  banks 
of   the  river    Cluden,   near    Dumfries."  — 

Albion  Edition.'] 

Ye  holy  walls,  that,  still  sublime, 
Resist  the  crumbling  touch  of  time  ; 
How  strongly  still  your  form  displays 
The  piety  of  ancient  days  ! 


As    through    your    ruins,    hoar    and 

gray  — 
Ruins  yet  beauteous  in  decay  — 
The  silvery  moonbeams  trembling  fly : 
The  forms  of  ages  long  gone  by 
Crowd   thick   on    Fancy's  wondering 

eye, 
And  wake  the  soul  to  musings  high. 
Even  now,  as  lost  in  thought  profound, 
I  view  the  solemn  scene  around. 
And,  pensive,  gaze  with  wistful  eyes, 
The  past  returns,  the  present  flies ; 
Again  the  dome,  in  pristine  pride. 
Lifts  high  its  roof  and  arches  wide, 
That,  knit  with  curious  tracery. 
Each  Gothic  ornament  display. 
The    high-arched    windows,   painted 

fair, 
Show  many  a  saint  and  martyr  there. 
As  on  their  slender  forms  I  gaze, 
Methinks  they  brighten  to  a  blaze  ! 
With  noiseless  step  and  taper  bright. 
What   are   yon   form.s  that  meet  my 

sight? 
Slowly  they  move,  while  every  eye 
Is  heavenward  raised  in  ecstasy. 
'T  is  the  fair,  spotless,  vestal  train. 
That  seek  in  prayer  the  midnight-fane. 
And,  hark  !  what  more   than  mortal 

sound 
Of  music  breathes  the  pile  around? 
T  is  the  soft-chanted  choral  song. 
Whose  tones  the  echoing  aisles  pro- 
long; 
Till,  thence  returned,  they  softly  stray 
O'er  Cluden's  wave,  with  fond  delay  ; 
Now  on  the  rising  gale  swell  high, 
And  now  in  fainting  murmurs  die ; 
The  boatmen  on  Nith\s  gentle  stream, 
That  glistens  in  the  pale  moonbeam, 
Suspend  their  dashing  oars  to  hear 
The  holy  anthem,  loud  and  clear ; 
Each  worldly  thought  a  while  forbear 
And  mutter  forth  a  half-formed  prayer. 
But,  as  I  gaze,  the  vision  fails. 
Like  frost-work  touched  by  southern 

gales : 
The  altar  sinks,  the  tapers  fade, 
And  all  the  splendid  scenes  decayed. 
In  window  fair  the  painted  pane 


174 


TO   MY   BED.  — SHELAH   O'NEIL. 


No  longer  glows  with  h®ly  stain, 
But  through  the  broken  glass  the  gale 
Blows  chilly  from  the  misty  vale ; 
The  bird  of  eve  tlits  sullen  by, 
Her   home    these    aisles   and   arches 

hiorh  ! 
The  choral  hymn,  that  erst  so  clear 
Broke  softly  sweet  on  Fancy's  ear. 
Is  drowned  amid  the  mournful  scream 
That  breaks  the  magic  of  my  dream  ! 
Roused  by  the  sound,  I  start  and  see 
The  ruined  sad  reality. 


VERSES  TO   MY   BED. 

[Printed  in  the  Albion  Edition.] 

Thou  Bed,  in  which  I  first  began 
To  be  that  various  creature  —  Man  ! 
And  when  again  the  fates  decree 
The  place  where  I  must  cease  to  be ; 
When  sickness  comes,  to  whom  I  fly, 
To  soothe  my   pain,   or  close   mine 

eye, 
When  cares    surround    me   where   I 

weep, 
Or  lose  them  all  in  balmy  sleep ; 
When  sore  with  labor,  whom  I  court, 
And  to  thy  downy  breast  resort ; 
Where,  too,  ecstatic  joys  I  find, 
When  deigns  my  Delia  to  be  kind  — 
And  full  of  love,  in  all  her  charms. 
Thou  giv'st  the  fair  one  to  my  arms. 
The   centre   thou,    where    grief    and 

pain. 
Disease  and  rest,  alternate  reign. 
Oh,  since  within  thy  little  space 
So  many  various  scenes  take  place ; 
Lessons  as  useful  shalt  thou  teach, 
As  sages  dictate  —  churchmen  preach  ; 
And  man,  convinced  by  thee  alone. 
This    great    important     truth     shall 

own :  — 
That  thin  partitions  do  divide 
The   bounds  where  good  and  ill  re- 
side ; 
That  nought  is  perfect  here  below; 
But  bliss  still  bordering  upon  woe. 


BRUCE. 

A   FRAGIVIENT. 

[Printed  in  the  Albion  Edition.] 

His  ro3'al  visage  seamed  with  many 

a  scar. 
That  Caledonian   reared   his  martial 

form. 
Who  led  the  tyrant-quelling  war, 
Where    Bannockburn's    ensanguined 

flood 
Swelled  with  mingling  hostile  blood. 
Soon  Edward's  myriads  struck  with 

deep  dismay. 
And    Scotia's  troop  of  brothers  win 

their  way. 
(Oh,  glorious  deed  to  bay  a  tyrant's 

band  ! 
Oh,  heavenly  joy  to  free  our  native 

land!)  ' 
While  high  their  mighty  chief  poured 

on  the  doubling  storm. 


SHELAH   O'NEIL. 

[Printed  in  the  Albion  Edition.] 

When  first  I  began  for  to  sigh  and 
to  woo  her, 
Of  many  fine  things   I  did  say  a 
great  deal. 
But,   above    all  the  rest,  that  which 
pleased  her  the  best. 
Was,    oh  !     will    you    marrv    me, 
Shelah  O'Neil  ? 
My  point  I  soon  carried,  for  straight 
we  were  married, 
Then   the  weight  of  my  burden   I 
soon  'gan  to  feel, — 
For  she  scolded,  she  fisted  —  O  then 
I  enlisted. 
Left    Ireland,    and    whiskey,    and 
Shelah  O'Neil. 


SHELAII    O'NEIL. 


375 


Then  tired  and  dull-hearted,  O  then 
I  deserted, 
And  fled  into   regions  far  distant 
from  home. 
To  Frederick's  army,  where  none  e'er 
could  harm  me. 
Save   Shelah  herself  in  the  shape 
of  a  bomb. 


I  fought  every  battle,  where  cannons 
did  rattle. 
Felt    sharp    shot,    alas  I    and    the 
sharp-pointed  steel ; 
But,  in  all  my  wars  round,  thank  my 
stars,  I  ne'er  found 
Aught  so  sharp  as  the  tongue  of 
cursed  Shelah  O'Neil. 


MOTTO   PREFIXED   TO   THE   KILMARNOCK   EDITION. 


"  The  simple  Bard,  unbroke  by  rules  of  art, 
He  pours  the  wild  effusions  of  the  heart : 
And  if  inspired,  't  is  nature's  powVs  inspire  — 
Hers  all  the  melting  thrill,  and  hers  the  kindling  fire." 


NOTES. 


HALLOWEEN, 

[The  following  notes  by  Burns,  alluded  to  in 
the  note  to  the  text,  will  explain  the  traditions 
upon  which  the  poem  is  based,  and  render  it 
more  intelligible  to  the  non-Scottish  reader.] 

1  Is  thought  to  be  a  night  when  witches, 
devils,  and  other  mischief-making  beings 
are  all  abroad  on  their  baneful  midnight 
errands  ;  particularly  those  aerial  people,  the 
fairies,  are  said  on  that  night  to  hold  a 
grand  anniversary. 

2  Certain  little,  romantic,  rocky  green  hills, 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  ancient  seat  of 
the  Earls  of  Cassilis. 

3  A  noted  cavern  near  Colean-house, 
called  the  Cove  of  Colean ;  which,  as  well 
as  Cassilis  Downans,  is  famed  in  country 
story  for  being  a  favourite  haunt  of  fairies. 

■*  The  famous  family  of  that  name,  the 
ancestors  of  Robert,  the  great  deliverer  of 
his  country,  were  Earls  of  Carrick. 

5  The  first  ceremony  of  Halloween  is  pull- 
ing each  a  stock,  or  plant  of  kail.  They 
must  go  out  hand  in  hand,  with  eyes  shut, 
and  pull  the  first  they  meet  with.  Its  being 
big  or  little,  straight  or  crooked,  is  pro- 
phetic of  the  size  and  shape  of  the  grand 
object  of  all  their  spells  —  the  husband  or 
wife.  If  a.ny  yird,  or  earth,  stick  to  the  root, 
that  is  tocher,  or  fortune ;  and  the  taste  of 
the  custock,  that  is  the  heart  of  the  stem,  is 
indicative  of  the  natural  temper  and  dis- 
position. Lastly,  the  stems,  or  to  give  them 
their  ordinary  appellation,  the  runts,  are 
placed  somewhere  above  the  head  of  the 
door;  and  the  Christian  names  of  the 
people  whom  chance  brings  into  the  house 
are  according  to  the  priority  of  placing  the 
runts,  the  names  in  question. 


^  They  go  to  the  barn-yard  and  pull  each,, 
at  three  different  times,  a  stalk  of  oats.  If 
the  third  stalk  wants  the  tap-pickle,  that  is, 
the  grain  at  the  top  of  the  stalk,  the  party 
in  question  will  come  to  the  marriage-bedi 
anything  but  a  maid. 

'  When  the  corn  is  in  a  doubtful  state,  it 
being  too  green,  or  wet,  the  stack-builder, 
by  means  of  old  timber,  etc.,  makes  a  large 
apartment  in  his  stack,  with  an  opening  in 
the  side  which  is  fairest  exposed  to  the 
wind  ;  this  he  calls  a  Fause-house. 

8  Burning  the  nuts  is  a  famous  charm. 
They  name  the  lad  and  the  lass  to  each 
particular  nut  as  they  lay  them  in  the  fire ; 
and  accordingly  as  they  burn  quietly  to- 
gether, or  start  from  beside  one  another, 
the  course  and  issue  of  the  courtship  will 
be. 

9  Whoever  would,  with  success,  try  this 
spell,  must  strictly  observe  these  directions: 
Steal  out,  all  alone,  to  the  kiln,  and  dark- 
ling, throw  into  \\\&pot  a  clue  of  blue  yarn  ; 
wind  it  in  a  new  clue  off  the  old  one ;  and 
towards  the  latter  end  something  will  hold 
the  thread  ;  demand  Wha  hands  ?  i.e.,  who 
holds  ?  an  answer  will  be  returned  from  tiie 
kiln-pot,  by  naming  the  Christian  and  sur- 
name of  your  future  spouse. 

10  Take  a  candle  and  go  alone  to  a  look- 
ing-glass ;  eat  an  apple  before  it,  and  some 
traditions  say  you  should  comb  your  hair 
all  the  time  ;  the  face  of  your  conjugal  com- 
panion to  be  will  be  seen  in  the  glass,  as  if 
peeping  over  yoilr  shoulder. 

11  Steal  out  unperceived  and  sow  a  hand- 
ful of  hemp-seed,  harrowing  it  with  anything 
you  can  conveniently  draw  after  you.  Re- 
peat now  and  then,  "  Hemp-seed,  I  saw 
thee,  hemp-seed,  I  saw  thee;  and  him  (or 


377 


378 


NOTES. 


her)  that  is  to  be  my  true-love,  come  after 
me  and  pou  thee."  Look  over  your  left 
shoulder,  and  you  will  see  the  appearance 
of  the  person  invoked  in  the  attitude  of 
pulling  hemp.  Some  traditions  say,  "  come 
after  me  and  shaw  thee,"  that  is,  show 
thyself;  in  which  case  it  simply  appears. 
Others  omit  the  harrowing,  and  say,  "  come 
after  me  and  harrow  thee." 

1"^  This  charm  must  likewise  be  performed 
unperceived  and  alone.  You  go  to  the  barn 
and  open  both  doors,  taking  them  off  the 
hinges,  if  possible  ;  for  there  is  danger  that 
the  being  about  to  appear  may  shut  the 
doors,  and  do  you  some  mischief.  Then 
take  that  instrument  used  in  winnowing  the 
corn,  which  in  our  country  dialect  we  call  a 
wecht,  and  go  through  all  the  attitudes  of 
letting  down  corn  against  the  wind.  Repeat 
it  three  times  ;  and  the  thiid  time  an  appa- 
rition will  pass  through  the  barn,  in  at  the 
windy  door  and  out  at  the  other,  having 
both  the  figure  in  question  and  the  appear- 
ance or  retinue  marking  the  employment  or 
station  in  life. 

13  Take  an  opportunity  of  going,  un- 
noticed, to  a  Bear-stack,  and  fathom  it  three 
times  round.  The  last  fathom  of  the  last 
time  you  will  catch  in  your  arms  the  appear- 
ance of  your  future  conjugal  yoke-fellow. 

14  You  go  out,  one  or  more  (for  this  is  a 
social  spell),  to  a  south  running  spring  or 
rivulet,  where  "  three  lairds'  lands  meet," 
and  dip  your  left  shirt  sleeve.  Go  to  bed 
in  sight  of  a  fire,  and  hang  your  wet  sleeve 
before  it  to  dry.  Lie  awake,  and  some- 
where near  midnight  an  apparition,  having 
the  exact  figure  of  the  grand  object  in  ques- 
tion, will  come  and  turn  the  sleeve,  as  if  to 
dry  the  other  side  of  it. 

15  Take  three  dishes ;  put  clean  water  in 
one,  foul  water  in  the  other,  and  leave  the 
third  empty.  Blindfold  a  person,  and  lead 
him  to  the  hearth  where  the  dishes  are 
ranged ;  he  (or  she)  dips  the  left  hand :  if 
by  chance  in  the  clean  water,  the  future 
husband  or  wife  will  come  to  the  bar  of 
matrimony  a  maid ;  if  the  foul,  a  widow  ;  if 
in  the  empty  dish,  it  foretells  witli  equal  cer- 
tainty no  marriage  at  all.  It  is  repeated 
three  times,  and  every  time  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  dishes  is  altered. 


16  Sowens,  with  butter  instead  of  milk  to 
them,  is  always  the  Halloween  Supper. 

THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT. 

"  '  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night'  is 
included  in  the  list  of  poems  mentioned  by 
Burns  in  his  letter  to  Richmond,  17th  Feb- 
ruary, 1786  ;  it  was  therefore  composed  be- 
tween the  beginning  of  November,  1785,  and 
that  date.  Gilbert  Burns  reldtes  that  Robert 
first  repeated  it  to  him  in  the  course  of  a 
walk  one  Sunday  afternoon.  He  also  states 
that  the  '  hint  of  the  plan,  and  the  title  of  the 
poem,'  were  taken  from  Fergusson's  '  Farm- 
er's Ingle.' 

"  This  is  true,  but  the  piece  as  a  whole  is 
formed  on  English  models.  It  is  the  most 
artificial  and  the  most  imitative  of  Burns's 
works.  Not  only  is  the  influence  of  Gray's 
'  Elegy '  conspicuous,  but  also  there  are 
echoes  of  Pope,  Thomson,  Goldsmith,  and 
even  Milton;  while  the  stanza,  which  was 
taken,  not  from  Spenser,  whom  Burns  had 
not  then  read,  but  from  Beattie  and  Shen- 
stone,  is  so  purely  English  as  to  lie  outside 
the  range  of  Burns's  experience  and  accom- 
plishment, '  These  English  songs,'  he  wrote 
long  afterwards  (1794)  to  Thomson,  'gravel 
me  to  death.  I  have  not  that  command  of 
the  language  that  I  have  of  my  native  tongue. 
In  fact,  I  think  my  ideas  are  more  barren  in 
English  than  in  Scottish.'  This  is  so  far 
true  as  to  make  one  wish  that  here,  as  else- 
where, he  had  chosen  a  Scots  exemplar : 
that  he  had  taken  (say)  not  merely  the 
scheme  but  also  the  stave  —  a,  b,  a,  b,  c,  d, 
c,d,d  —  of  The  Farmer's  Ingle,'  and  sought 
after  effects  which  he  could  accomplish  in  a 
medium  of  which  he  was  absolute  master. 
As  it  is,  'The  Cotter's  Saturda/  Night'  is 
supposed  to  paint  an  essentially  Scottish 
phase  of  life;  but  the  Scottish  element  in 
the  diction — to  say  nothing  of  the  Scottish 
cast  of  the  effect — is  comparatively  slight 
throughout,  and  in  many  stanzas  is  alto- 
gether wanting.  In  the  '94  Edition  the 
vernacular  was  a  little  coloured  by  a  more 
general  substitution  of  '  an  '  for  '  and,'  '  wi' ' 
for  '  wil/i,'  and  so  on.  But  it  may  be  that 
Tytler,  rather  than  Burns,  was  responsible 
for  this ;  and  the  earher  orthography,  being 


NOTES. 


379 


in  better  keeping  with  the  general  English 
cast,  has  been  retained."  —  The  Centenary 
Edition. 

"The  quiet  households  of  the  kingdom 
have  received  a  sort  of  apotheosis  in  '  The 
Cotter's  Saturday  Night.'  It  has  been  ob- 
jected that  the  subject  does  not  afford  scope 
for  the  more  daring  forms  of  the  author's 
genius;  but  had  he  written  no  other  poem, 
this  heartful  rendering  of  a  good  week's 
close  in  a  God-fearing  home,  sincerely  de- 
vout, and  yet  relieved  from  all  suspicion  of 
sermonizing  by  its  humorous  touches,  would 
have  secured  a  permanent  place  in  our  liter- 
ature. It  transcends  Thomson  and  Seattle 
at  their  best,  and  will  smell  sweet  like  the 
actions  of  the  just  for  generations  to  come." 
—  John  Nichol,  LL.D. 

TAM  O'  SHANTER. 

"Alloway  Kirk  was  originally  the 
church  of  the  quoad  civilia  parish  of  Allo- 
way; but  this  parish  having  been  annexed 
to  that  of  Ayr  in  1690,  the  church  fell  more 
or  less  to  ruin,  and  when  Burns  wrote  had 
been  roofless  for  half  a  century.  It  stands 
some  two  hundred  yards  to  the  north  of  the 
picturesque  Auld  Brig  of  Doon,  which  dates 
from  about  the  beginning  of  the  Fifteenth 
Century,  and  in  Burns's  time  was  the  sole 
means  of  communication  over  the  steep- 
banked  Doon  between  Carrick  and  Kyle. 
The  old  road  to  Ayr  ran  west  of  the  Kirk  : 
the  more  direct  road  dating  from  the  erec- 
tion of  the  New  Brig  —  a  little  west  of  the 
old  one  —  in  1815. 

"  Burns's  birthplace  is  about  three-fourths 
of  a  mile  to  the  north ;  so  that  the  ground 
and  its  legends  were  familiar  to  him  from 
the  first.  Writing  to  Francis  Grose  (first 
published  in  Sir  Egerton  Brydges, '  Censura 
Literaria,'  1796),  'Among  the  many  witch- 
stories  I  have  heard,'  he  says,  '  relating  to 
Alloway  Kirk,  I  distinctly  remember  only 
two  or  tliree.  Upon  a  stormy  night,  amid 
whistling  squalls  of  wind  and  bitter  blasts 
of  hail  —  in  short,  on  such  a  night  as  the 
devil  would  choose  to  take  the  air  in  —  a 
farmer,  or  farmer's  servant,  was  plodding 
and  plashing  homeward  with  his  plough- 
irons  on  his  shoulder,  having  been  getting 


some  repairs  on  them  at  a  neighbouring 
smithy.  His  way  lay  by  the  Kirk  of  Allo- 
way ;  and  being  rather  on  the  anxious  look- 
out in  approaching  a  place  so  well  known  to 
be  a  favourite  haunt  of  the  devil,  and  the 
devil's  friends  and  emissaries,  he  was  struck 
aghast  by  discovering  through  the  horrors 
of  the  storm  and  stormy  night,  a  light,  which 
on  his  nearer  approach,  plainly  shewed  it- 
self to  proceed  from  the  haunted  edifice. 
Whether  he  had  been  fortified  frcm  above 
on  his  devout  supplication,  as  is  «.ustomary 
with  people  when  they  suspect  the  imme- 
diate presence  of  Satan,  or  whether,  ac- 
cording to  another  custom,  he  had  got 
courageously  drunk  at  the  smithy,  I  will 
not  pretend  to  determine;  but  so  it  was, 
that  he  ventured  to  go  up  to,  nay  into, 
the  very  Kirk.  As  luck  would  have  it,  his 
temerity  came  off  unpunished.  The  mem- 
bers of  the  infernal  junto  were  all  out  on 
some  midnight  business  or  other,  and  he 
saw  nothing  but  a  kind  of  kettle  or  cauldron,* 
depending  from  the  roof,  over  the  fire,  sim- 
mering some  heads  of  unchristened  chil- 
dren, limbs  of  executed  malefactors,  etc., 
for  the  business  of  the  night.  It  was,  in  for 
a  penny,  in  for  a  pound  with  the  honest 
ploughman :  so  without  ceremony  he  un- 
hooked the  cauldron  from  the  fire,  and 
pouring  out  the  damnable  ingredients,  in- 
verted it  on  his  head,  and  carried  it  fairly 
home,  where  it  remained  long  in  the  family, 
a  living  evidence  of  the  truth  of  the  story. 
Another  story,  which  I  can  prove  to  be 
equally  authentic,  was  as  follows :  On  a 
market  day  in  the  town  of  Ayr,  a  farmer 
from  Carrick,  and  consequently  whose  way 
lay  by  the  very  gate  of  Alloway  Kirkyard, 
in  order  to  cross  the  river  Doon  r.'.  the  old 
bridge,  which  is  about  two  or  three  .:undred 
yards  further  on  than  the  said  gate,  had 
been  detained  by  his  business  till  by  the 
time  he  reached  Alloway  it  was  the  wizard 
hour  between  night  and  morning.  Though 
he  was  terrified  with  a  blaze  streaming  from 
the  Kirk,  yet,  as  it  is  a  well-known  fact  that  to 
turn  back  on  these  occasions  is  running  by 
far  the  greatest  risk  of  mischief,  he  prudently 
advanced  on  his  road.  When  he  had  reached 
the  gate  of  the  Kirkyard,  he  was  surprised 
and  entertained,  through  the  ribs  and  arches 


$So 


NOTES. 


of  an  old  Gothic  window,  which  still  faces 
the  highway,  to  see  a  dance  of  witches  mer- 
rily footing  it  round  their  old  sooty  black- 
guard master,  who  was  keeping  them  all 
alive  with  the  power  of  his  bagpipe.  The 
farmer,  stopping  his  horse  to  observe  them 
a  little,  could  plainly  descry  the  faces  of 
many  old  women  of  his  acquaintance  and 
neighbourhood.  How  the  gentleman  was 
dressed,  tradition  does  not  say,  but  that  the 
ladies  were  all  in  their  smocks:  and  one 
of  them  happening  unluckily  to  have  a 
smock  which  was  considerably  too  short  to 
answer  all  the  purpose  of  that  piece  of  dress, 
our  farmer  was  so  tickled  that  he  involun- 
tarily burst  out  with  a  loud  laugh,  "  Weel 
luppen,  Maggy  wi'  the  short  sark !  "  and 
recollecting  himself,  instantly  spurred  his 
horse  to  the  top  of  his  speed.  I  need  not 
mention  the  universally  known  fact,  that  no 
diabolical  power  can  pursue  you  beyond 
the  middle  of  a  running  stream.  Lucky  it 
'was  for  the  poor  farmer  that  the  river  Doon 
was  so  near,  for  notwithstanding  the  speed 
of  the  horse,  which  was  a  good  one,  when 
he  reached  the  middle  of  the  arch  of  the 
bridge,  and  consequently  the  middle  of  the 
stream,  the  pursuing  vengeful  hags  were  so 
close  at  his  heels  that  one  of  them  actually 
sprang  to  seize  him  :  but  it  was  too  late ; 
nothing  was  on  her  side  of  the  stream  but 
the  horse's  tail,  which  immediately  gave  way 
.at  her  infernal  grip,  as  if  blasted  by  a  stroke 
of  lightning ;  but  the  farmer  was  beyond  her 
reach.  HoWever,  the  unsightly  tailless  con- 
dition of  the  vigorous  steed  was,  to  the  last 
hour  of  the  noble  creature's  life,  an  awful 
■warning  to  the  Carrick  farmers  not  to  stay 
too  late  in  Ayr  markets. 

"'The  last  relation  I  shall  give,  though 
equally  true,  is  not  so  well  identified  as  the 
two  former  with  regard  to  the  scene ;  but  as 
the  best  authorities  give  it  for  Alloway,  I 
shall  relate  it.  On  a  summer's  evening, 
about  the  time  nature  puts  on  her  sables 
to  mourn  the  expiry  of  the  cheerful  day,  a 
shepherd  boy,  belonging  to  a  farmer  in  the 
immediate  neighbourhood  of  Alloway  Kirk, 
had  just  folded  his  charge  and  was  return- 
ing home.  As  he  passed  the  Kirk,  in  the 
adjoining  field,  he  fell  in  with  a  crew  of  men 
and  women  who  were  busy  pulling  stems 


of  the  plant  ragwort.  He  observed  that  as 
each  person  pulled  a  ragwort,  he  or  she  got 
astride  of  it  and  called  out,  "Up  horsiel" 
on  which  the  ragwort  flew  off,  like  Pegasus, 
through  the  air  with  its  rider.  The  foolish 
boy  likewise  pulled  his  ragwort,  and  cried 
with  the  rest,  "  Up  horsie!  "  and,  strange  to 
tell,  away  he  flew  with  the  company.  The 
first  stage  at  which  the  cavalcade  stopt  was 
a  merchant's  wine-cellar  in  Bordeaux,  where, 
without  saying  by  your  leave,  they  quaffed 
away  at  the  best  the  cellar  could  aff'ord,  un- 
til the  morning,  foe  to  the  imps  and  works 
of  darkness,  threatened  to  throw  light  on 
the  matter,  and  frightened  tliem  from  their 
carousals.  The  poor  shepherd  lad,  being 
equally  a  stranger  to  the  scene  and  the 
liquor,  heedlessly  got  himself  drunk ;  and 
when  the  rest  took  horse  he  fell  asleep,  and 
was  found  so  next  day  by  some  of  the  peo- 
ple belonging  to  the  merchant.  Somebody 
that  understood  Scotch,  asking  him  wha*; 
he  was,  he  said  such  a  one's  herd  in  Allo- 
way; and  by  some  means  or  other  getting 
home  again,  he  lived  long  to  tell  the  world 
the  wondrous  tale.' 

"  The  motto  is  the  eighteenth  verse  of 
Gavin  Douglas's  sixth '  Prolong  '  {Eneados) , 
and  should  read  thus  :  '  Of  browneis  and  of 
bogillis  full  this  buke.' 

"  Probably  Burns  drew  the  suggestion  of 
his  hero,  Tam  o'  Shanter,  from  the  char- 
acter and  adventures  of  Douglas  Graham 
—  born  6th  January,  1739,  died  23rd  June, 
1811  —  son  of  Robert  Graham,  farmer  at 
Douglastown,  tenant  of  the  farm  of  Shan- 
ter on  the  Carrick  Shore,  and  owner  of  a 
boat  which  he  had  named  '  Tam  o'  Shanter.' 
Graham  was  noted  for  his  convivial  habits, 
which  his  wife's  ratings  tended  rather  to 
confirm  than  to  eradicate.  Tradition  relates 
that  once,  when  his  long-tailed  grey  mare 
had  waited  even  longer  than  usual  for  her 
master  at  the  tavern  door,  certain  humour- 
ists plucked  her  tail  to  such  an  extent  as  to 
leave  it  little  better  than  a  stump,  and  that 
Graham,  on  his  attention  being  called  to  its 
state  next  morning,  swore  that  it  had  been 
depilated  by  the  witches  at  Alloway  Kirk 
(MS.  Notes  by  D.  Auld  of  Ayr  in  Edinburgh 
University  Library).  The  prototype  —  if 
prototype  there  were  —  of  Souter  Johnie  is 


NOTES. 


38r 


more  doubtful ;  but  a  shoemaker  named 
John  Davidson  —  born  1728,  died  30th  June, 
1S06  —  did  live  for  some  time  at  Glenfoot  of 
Ardlochan,  near  the  farm  of  Shanter,  whence 
he  removed  to  Kirkoswald, 

"  In  Alloway  Kirk  and  its  surroundings, 
apart  from  its  uncanny  associations.  Burns 
cherished  a  special  interest.  '  When  my 
father,'  says  Gilbert,  '  feued  his  little  prop- 
erty near  Alloway  Kirk  the  wall  of  the 
churchyard  had  gone  to  ruin,  and  cattle  had 
free  liberty  of  pasturing  in  it.  My  father 
and  two  or  three  other  neighbours  joined  in 
an  application  to  the  Town  Council  of  Ayr, 
who  were  superiors  of  the  adjoining  land, 
for  liberty  to  rebuild  it,  and  raised  by  sub- 
scription a  sum  for  enclosing  this  ancient 
cemetery  with  a  wall ;  hence  he  came  to 
consider  it  as  his  burial-place,  and  we 
learned  the  reverence  for  it  people  gen- 
erally have  for  the  burial-place  of  their 
ancestors.'  When,  therefore.  Burns  met 
Captain  Grose  —  then  on  his  peregrinations 
through  Scotland  —  at  the  house  of  Cap- 
tain Riddell,  he  suggested  a  drawing  of 
the  ruin ;  and  '  the  captain,"  Gilbert  says, 
'agreed  to  the  request,  provided  the  poet 
would  furnish  a  witch  story  to  be  printed 
along  with  it.'  It  is  probable  that  Burns 
originally  sent  the  stories  told  above  for  in- 
sertion in  the  work,  and  that  the  narrative 
in  rhyme  was  an  afterthought.  Lockhart, 
on  Cromek's  authority,  accepts  a  statement, 
said  to  have  been  made  by  Mrs.  Burns, 
that  the  piece  was  the  work  of  a  single  day, 
and  on  this  very  slender  evidence  divers 
critics  have  indulged  in  a  vast  amount  of 
admiration.  Burns's  general  dictum  must, 
however,  be  borne  in  mind :  '  All  my 
poetry  is  the  effect  of  easy  composition,  but 
of  laborious  correction  ; '  together  with  his 
special  verdict  on  'Tarn  o'  Shanter'  (letter 
to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  April,  1791)  that  it  'showed 
a  finishing  polish,"  which  he  despaired  of 
'  ever  excelling.'  It  appeared  in  Grose's 
'Antiquities' —  published  in  April,  1791  —  the 
captain's  indebtedness  being  thus  acknowl- 
edged :  'to  my  ingenious  friend,  Mr.  Robert 
Burns,  I  have  been  seriously  obligated :  he 
was  not  only  at  the  pains  of  making  out 
what  was  most  worthy  of  notice  in  Ayrshire, 
the  county  honoured  by  his  birth,  but  he 


also  wrote,  expressly  for  this  work,  the 
pretty  tale  annexed  to  Alloway  Church.'" 
—  Centenary  Edition. 

"  Lovers  of  rustic  festivity  may  agree  with 
Professor  Craik  in  holding  that  the  poet's 
greatest  performance  is  his  narrative  of 
'  Halloween,'  which  for  easy  vigor,  fulness 
of  rollicking  life,  blended  truth  and  fancy,  is 
unsurpassed  in  its  kind.  Campbell,  Wilson, 
Hazlitt,  Montgomery,  Burns  himself,  and 
the  majority  of  his  critics,  have  recorded 
their  preference  for  'Tarn  o'  Shanter,'  where 
the  weird  superstitious  element  that  has 
played  so  great  a  part  in  the  imaginative 
work  of  this  part  of  our  island  is  brought 
more  prominently  forward.  Few  passages 
of  description  are  finer  than  that  of  the 
roaring  Doon  and  Alloway  Kirk  glimmer- 
ing through  the  groaning  trees ;  but  the 
unique  excellence  of  the  piece  consists  in 
its  variety,  and  a  perfectly  original  com- 
bination of  the  terrible  and  the  ludicrous. 
Like  Goethe's  '  Walpurgis  Nacht,'  brought 
into  closer  contact  with  real  life,  it  stretches 
from  the  drunken  humours  of  Christopher 
Sly  to  a  world  of  fantasies  almost  as  brill- 
iant as  those  of  the  '  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream,*  half  solemnized  by  the  severer  at- 
mosphere of  a  sterner  clime.  The  contrast 
between  the  lines  '  Kings  may  be  blest,'  etc., 
and  those  which  follow,  beginning  '  But 
pleasures  are  like  poppies  spread,'  is  typical 
of  the  perpetual  antithesis  of  the  author's 
thought  and  life,  in  which,  at  the  back  of 
every  revelry,  he  sees  the  shadow  of  a 
warning  hand,  and  reads  on  the  wall  the 
writing.  Omnia  niutantur." — ^JOHN  NiCHOL, 
LL.D. 

THE  WHISTLE. 

"  This  poem  is  thus  prefaced  by  Burns  : 
'As  the  authentic  Prose  history  of  the 
Whistle  is  curious,  I  shall  here  give  it.  In 
the  train  of  Anne  of  Denmark,  when  she 
came  to  Scotland  with  our  James  the  Sixth, 
there  came  over  also  a  Danish  gentleman 
of  gigantic  stature  and  great  prowess,  and  a 
matchless  champion  of  Bacchus.  He  had 
a  little  ebony  Whistle,  which,  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  orgies,  he  laid  on  the 
table ;  and  whoever  was  last  able  to  blow 
it,  everybody   else  being  disabled  by  the 


382 


NOTES. 


potency  of  the  bottle,  was  to  carry  off  the 
Whistle,  as  a  trophy  of  victory.  —  The  Dane 
produced  credentials  of  his  victories,  with- 
out a  single  defeat,  at  the  courts  of  Copen- 
hagen, Stockholm,  Moscow,  Warsaw,  and 
several  of  the  petty  courts  in  Germany ;  and 
challenged  the  Scots  Bacchanalians  to  the 
alternative  of  trying  his  prowess,  or  else  of 
acknowledging  their  inferiority.  After  many 
overthrows  on  the  part  of  the  Scots,  the 
Dane  was  encountered  by  Sir  Robert  Low- 
rie  of  Maxwelton,  ancestor  to  the  present 
worthy  baronet  of  that  name ;  who,  after 
three  days  and  three  nights'  hard  contest, 
left  the  Scandinavian  under  the  table,  "  And 
blew  on  the  Whistle  his  requiem  shrill." 

"'Sir  Walter,  son  to  Sir  Robert  before 
mentioned,  afterwards  lost  the  Whistle  to 
Walter  Riddell  of  Glenriddell,  who  had 
married  a  sister  of  Sir  Walter's.  On  Fri- 
day, the  i6th  October,  1790,  at  Friars-Carse, 
the  Whistle  was  once  more  contended  for 
as  related  in  the  Ballad,  by  the  present  Sir 
Robert  Lowrie  of  Maxwelton ;  Robert  Rid- 
dell, Esq.  of  Glenriddell,  lineal  descendant 
and  representative  of  Walter  Riddell,  who 
won  the  Whistle,  and  in  whose  family  it 
had  continued;  and  Alexander  Ferguson, 
Esq.  of  Craigdarroch,  likewise  descended 
of  the  great  Sir  Robert,  which  last  gentle- 
man carried  off  the  hard-won  honours  of 
the  field.' 

"  In  this  Prefatory  Note  Burns  misdates 
the  contest  by  a  year,  as  is  proved  by  (i) 
the  date  of  a'  letter  —  i6th  October,  1789  — 
to  Captain  Riddell,  in  which  he  refers  to  the 
contest  of  the  evening;  and  (2)  by  the 
memorandum  of  the  '  Bett,'  now  in  the  pos- 
session of  Sir  Robert  Jardine  of  Castlemilk, 
first  published  in  '  Notes  and  Queries,'  Sec- 
ond Series,  vol.  x.  (i860),  p.  423  :  — 

'"DOQUET 

"  '  The  original  Bett  between  Sir  Robert 
Laurie  and  Craigdarroch,  for  the  noted 
Whistle,  which  is  so  much  celebrated  by 
Robert  Burns'  Poems  —  in  which  Bett  I 
was  named  Judge —  1789. 

"  '  The  Bett  decided  at  Carse  —  i6th  Oc- 
tober, 1789. 

"  'Won  by  Craigdarroch  —  he  drank  upds. 
of  5  Bottles  of  Clareto 


'"MEMORANDUM   FOR  THE  WHISTLE 

'"The  Whistle  gained  by  Sir  Robert 
Laurie  (now)  in  possession  of  Mr.  Riddell 
of  Glenriddell,  is  to  be  ascertained  to  the 
heirs  of  the  said  Sir  Robert  now  existing, 
being  Sir  R.  L.,  Mr.  R.  of  G.,  and  Mr.  F.  of 
C. — to  be  settled  under  the  arbitration  of 
Mr.  Jn.  M'Murdo:  the  business  to  be  de- 
cided at  Carse,  the  i6th  of  October,  1789. 
" '  (Signed)    Alex.  Ferguson. 

R.  Laurie. 

RoBT.  Riddell. 
"  '  COWHILL,  xoth  October,  1789. 

"  '  John  M'Murdo  accepts  as  Judge. 

"  '  Geo.  Johnston  witness,  to  be  present. 

" '  Patrick  Miller  witness,  to  be  pre.  if 
possible. 

" '  Minute  of  Bett  between  Sir  Robert 
Laurie  and  Craigdarroch,  1789.' 

"  The  question,  whether  or  not  Burns  was 
present,  has  been  hotly  debated.  The  ref- 
'erences  in  his  letter  on  the  day  of  the  fight, 
as  well  as  the  terms  of  the  '  Bett,'  seem  to 
show  that,  tradition  notwithstanding,  he  was 
not.  But  there  are  no  data  for  an  absolute 
conclusion." —  Centenary  Edition. 

THE  JOLLY   BEGGARS. 

"This  immortal  poem  was  partly  given 
in  manuscript  by  Bums,  '  as  rich  men  give 
who  care  not  for  their  gifts,'  to  one  Rich- 
mond, in  whose  company,  in  1785,  he  had 
watched  a  festival  of  vagrom  men.  In 
1793,  Burns  had  forgotten  the  Cantata,  and 
kept  no  copy.  Shakespeare  was  not  more 
regardless  of  his  works.  The  rest  of  the 
manuscript  was  presented  by  Burns  to  a 
Mr.  David  Woodburn,  without  Richmond's 
part,  which  has  been  added  —  it  runs  from 
'Poor  Merry-Andrew'  to  'he's  far  dafter 
than  I.'  The  whole  MS.  has  wandered  to 
the  Azores,  to  Nova  Scotia,  and  home 
again  (Scott  Douglas).  Part  of  Tennyson's 
'  Vision  of  Sin '  is  clearly  inspired  by  this 
Cantata.  It  is  characteristic  of  Burns  that 
he  neither  published  nor  took  any  pains  to 
secure  the  future  of  this  extraordinary  piece, 
first  printed  in  1799,  by  Stewart  and  Meikle, 
without  Richmond's  portion,  added  in  1801 
by  Thomas  Stewart."  —  ANDREW  Lang. 


NOTES. 


383 


"  The  form  of  the  piece  is  a  mere  can- 
tata, the  theme  tlie  half-drunken  snatches 
of  a  joyous  band  of  vagabonds,  while  the 
grey  leaves  are  floating  on  the  gusts  of  the 
wind  in  the  autumn  of  the  year.  But  the 
whole  is  compacted,  refined,  and  poured 
forth  in  one  flood  of  liquid  harmony.  It 
is  light,  airy,  and  soft  of  movement,  yet 
sharp  and  precise  in  its  details ;  every  face 
is  a  portrait,  and  the  whole  a  group  in  clear 
photography.  The  blanket  of  the  night  is 
ilrawn  aside;  in  full  ruddy  gleaming  light 
these  rough  tatterdemalions  are  seen  at 
their  boisterous  revel  wringing  from  Fate 
another  hour  of  wassail  and  good  cheer." 
—  Thomas  Carlyle.  «^ 

"  Over  the  whole  is  flung  a  half-humor- 
ous, haif-savage  satire  —  aimed,  like  a  two- 
edged  sword,  at  the  laws  and  the  law- 
breakers, in  the  acme  of  which  the  grace- 
less crew  are  raised  above  the  level  of 
ordinary  gipsies,  footpads,  and  rogues,  and 
are  made  to  sit  '  on  the  hills  like  gods  to- 
gether, careless  of  mankind,'  and  to  launch 
their  Titan  thunders  of  rebellion  against 
the  world."  — John  Nichol,  LL.D. 

SYLVANDER  TO  CLARINDA. 

"  Clarinda  was  Mrs.  Agnes  Maclehose, 
flee  Craig,  daughter  of  Andrew  Craig,  sur- 
geon, Glasgow,  She  w^as  born  in  April, 
1759  —  the  same  year  as  her  Poet ;  and  when 
he  met  her  in  Edinburgh  (7th  December, 
1787)  she  had  for  some  time  been  sepa- 
rated from  her  husband.  The  Bard,  who 
w'as  (as  ever)  by  way  of  being  a  buck, 
accepted  an  invitation  to  take  tea  with  her 
on  the  9th ;  but  an  accident  obliging  him  to 
keep  his  room,  he  wrote  to  express  his 
regret,  and  at  the  same  time  intimated  his 
resolve  to  cherish  her  'friendship  with  the 
enthusiasm  of  religion.'  Mrs.  Maclehose 
responding  in  the  same  key,  the  '  friendship ' 
proceeded  apace.  On  Christmas  Eve  she 
sent  him  certain  verses,  signed  'Clarinda,' 
'  On  Burns  saying  He  had  nothing  else  to 
Do,'  three  of  which  he  quoted  in  the  '  Glen- 
riddell  Book ' :  — 

"  '  When  first  you  saw  Clarinda's  charms, 
What  rapture  in  your  bosom  grew! 
Her  heart  was  shut  to  Love's  alarms, 
But  then  —  you  'd  nothing  else  to  do. 


'  Apollo  oft  had  lent  his  harp, 

But  now  't  was  strung  from  Cupid's  bow; 
You  sung  —  it  reached  Clarinda's  heart  — 
She  wish'd  you  'd  nothing  else  to  do. 

*  Fair  Venus  smil'd,  Minerva  frown'd, 
Cupid  observed,  the  arrow  flew: 
Indifference  (ere  a  week  went  round) 
Show'd  you  had  nothing  else  to  do.' 

Thus  challenged,  Sylvander  —  (he  became 
Sylvander  there  and  then) — replied  as  in 
the  text ;  and  the  romantic  terms  in  which 
the  two  went  on  to  conduct  their  corre- 
spondence soon  served  the  ardent  youth  as 
a  pretext  for  the  expression  of  fiercer  senti- 
ments than  Clarinda's  '  principles  of  reason 
and  religion'  should  have  allowed.  She 
sent  her  Arcadian  poems,  which  he  amended 
for  Johnson's  Museum;  and  he  fell  so  deeply 
enamoured  that,  on  leaving  Edinburgh  (24th 
March)  he  must  write  thus  to  a  friend:  — 
'  During  these  last  eight  days  I  have  been 
positively  crazy.'  Clarinda  (like  Maman 
Vauquer)  avait  des  idees  —  as  what  lady  in 
tlie  circumstances  would  not?  And  when 
Clarinda  learned,  in  August,  that  Burns  had 
married  Armour,  Clarinda  resented  her 
Sylvander's  defection  as  an  unpardonable 
wrong.  They  were  partly  reconciled  in  the 
autumn  of  1791 ;  and  ere  she  rejoined  her 
husband  in  Jamaica,  they  had  an  interview 
on  6th  December,  which  the  gallant  and 
romantic  litnle  song,  '  O  May,  Thy  Morn 
Was  Ne'er  sae  Sweet,'  is  held  to  com- 
memorate. On  the  27th  he  sent  her  'Ae 
Fond  Kiss  and  Then  We  Sever,'  with  the 
finest  lines  he  ever  wrote  :  — 

"  '  Had  we  never  loved  sae  kindly. 
Had  we  never  loved  sae  blindly. 
Never  met  or  never  parted, 
We  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted ' :  — 

'  Behold  the  Hour,  the  Boat  Arrive,'  and 
part  of  '  Gloomy  December,'  with  the  re- 
mark :  — '  The  remainder  of  this  song  is  on 
the  wheels  —  Adieu  1  Adieu  ! '  Mrs.  Macle- 
hose, still  unreconciled  to  her  husband,  re- 
turned to  Scotland  in  August,  1792.  Burns 
and  she  corresponded  occasionally,  but 
never  met  again.  She  died  22nd  October, 
1841.  His  letters  to  her  were  pirated  in 
Stewart's  Edition  (1802).  The  greater  part 
of  the  Correspondence  appeared  in  1843."  — 
Centenary  Edition. 


GLOSSARY. 


A',  all. 

A-back,  (i)  behind;  (2)  away. 

Abiegh,  aloof,  off:  '  stand  abiegh.' 

Ablifis,  V.  Alblins. 

Aboon,  (i)  above  [the  usual  sense];  also 
(2)  up:  'a  lift  aboon,'  'temper-pins 
aboon,'  'heart  aboon,'  'his  heart  will 
never  get  aboon '  =  his  heart  will  never 
again  rejoice. 

Abread,  abroad  :  '  beauties  a'  abread.' 

Abreed,  in  breadth  (R.  B.) :  '  spread  abreed 
thy  weel-fill'd  brisket.' 

Ado,  to-do :  '  mickle  ado.' 

Adle,  cow-lant,  putrid  water:  'deal  brim- 
stone like  adle.' 

Ae,  one. 

Aff,  off. 

Aff-hand,  at  once :  '  a  carpet  weaver  aff- 
hand,'  '  marriage  aff-hand.' 

Aff-loof,  off-hand,  extempore :  '  Just  clean 
aff-Ioof.' 

A-fiel,  a-field. 

Afore,  before. 

Aft,  oft. 

Afien,  often. 

Agley,  askew 

Ahin,  behind 

Aibllns,  may  be,  perhaps. 

Aik,  oak. 

Aike?i,  oaken. 

Ain,  own. 

Air,  early. 

Airle,  hansel,  earnest  money :  '  airle-pennies 
three,' '  an  airle-pcnny.' 

Airles,  hansel :  '  the  airles  an  the  fee.' 

Aim,  iron. 

Alrt,  direction. 

Airf,  to  direct  :  'airt  me  to  my  treasure,' 
'  airted  till  her  a  guid  chiel.' 

Aiih,  oath. 

2C  385 


•  gang  aft  agley.' 

'  Ian '-ahin,'  '  fur-ahin.' 


Aits,  oats. 

Aiver,   an   old   horse    (R.   B.)  :    'a  noble 

aiver.' 
Aizle,  a  cinder  :  '  an  aizle  brunt.' 
A-jee,  (i)    ajar :   '  the  back-yett  be  a-jee ' ; 

(2)    to    one    side:    'his    bonnet    he    a 

thought  a-jee.' 
Alake,  alas. 
Alane,  alone. 
Alatig,  along. 
Ainaist,  almost. 
Aniang,  among. 
An,  if. 
An' ,  and. 
Ance,  once. 
Ane,  one. 
Aneath,  beneath. 
Aftes,  ones. 
Anither,  another. 
Aqua-fontis,     spring-water :     '  aqua-fontis, 

what  you  please.' 
Aqua-vitae,  whisky. 
Arte,  V.  Airle. 
Ase,  ashes. 
Asklent,{i)  askew  [not  according  to  Hoyle] : 

'  cam  to  the  warl'  asklent ' ;    (2)  askance : 

'  look'd  asklent.' 
Aspar,  aspread :  '  the  lasses  lie  aspar.' 
Asteer,  astir. 
A'  thegitker,  altogether. 
Athort,  athwart. 

Atweel,  in  truth :  '  eh  !  atweel  na.' 
Atiueen,  between. 
Aught,  eight. 
^//^///,  possession :    'whase   aught,' =  who 

owns. 
Aughten,  eighteen. 
Aughtlins,  at  all,  in  any  way:   '  Aughtlins 

fawsont ' ;  v.  Oughtli/is. 
Auld,  old. 


386 


GLOSSARY. 


Auldfarran,  auldfarr-ant,  (i)  shrewd:  'a 
chap  that's  damn'd  auldfarran';  (2)  old- 
fashioned  in  the  sense  of  sagacious : 
•your  auld-farrant  frien'ly  letter.' 

Auld  Reekie,  Edinburgh. 

Auld-warld,  old-world. 

Autnous,  alms:  'just  like  an  aumous  dish.' 

Ava,  at  all. 

Awa,  away, 

Awald,  backways  and  bent  together:  'fell 
awald  beside  it.' 

Awauk,  awake. 

Awauken,  awaken. 

Awe,  owe  :  '  devil  a  shilling  I  awe,  man. 

Awkart,  awkward. 

Awfiie,  bearded:  'aits  set  up  their  awnie 
horn.' 

Ayont,  beyond. 

BcC ,  a  ball. 

Baby-clouts,  babie-clouts^  baby  clothes :  '  like 
baby-clouts  a-dryin,'  '  O  wha  my  babie- 
clouts  will  buy.' 

Backet,  bucket  or  box  :  '  auld  saut-backets.' 

Backit,  backed :  '  howe-backit  now,  an' 
knaggie.' 

Backlins-comin,  coming  back,  returning 
(R.B.). 

Back-yett,  gate  at  the  back :  '  the  back-yett 
be  a-jee.' 

Bade,  endured  :  '  bade  an  unco  bang.' 

Bade,  asked  :  '  and  bade  nae  better.' 

Baggie,  the  belly,  the  stomach  :  '  a  ripp  to 
thy  auld  baggie.' 

Baig'nets,  bayonets. 

Bailie,  magistrate  of  a  Scots  burgh. 

Bainie,  bony,  big-boned :  the  '  brawnie, 
bainie,  ploughman  chiel.* 

Bairn,  child. 

Bairntime,  brood,  issue :  '  thae  bonie  bairn- 
time,'  '  my  pleugh  is  now  thy  bairntime  a'.' 

Baith,  both. 

Bakes,  biscuits :  '  bakes  and  gills.* 

Ballots,  ballads. 

Balou,  lullaby  :  '  The  Highland  Balou.' 

Bamboozle,  to  trick  by  mystifying :  '  wicked 
men  bamboozle  him.' 

Ban,  swear  [special  Scottish  meaning  in 
addition  to  curse] :  '  the  devil-haet  that  I 
sud  ban.' 

Ba7i\  band  \i.e.  of  the  Presbyterian  clergy- 
man] :  '  gown  an'  ban'  '  =  the  clergyman. 


Bane,  bone. 

Bang,  an  effort  (R.  B.),  a  blow,  a  large 
number.  U7ico  bang,  great  or  prolonged 
effort :  '  he  bade  an  unco  bang.' 

Ba7ig,  to  thump :  '  bang  your  hide,'  '  she 
bang'd  me,'  '  bang'd  the  despot.* 

Ba7iie,  v.  Bainie. 

Bannet,  bonnet. 

Ba7mock,  bo>i7iock,  a  soft  cake  :  '  twa  mash- 
lum  bonnocks,'  '  Saxpence  an'  a  ban- 
nock,' '  Bannocks  o'  Bear  Meal,  Ban- 
nocks o"  Barley,'  '  hauvermeal  bannock.' 

Bardie,  dim.  oi  bard. 

Barefit,  barefooted. 

Barket,  barked. 

Barley-brie  or  -tree,  barley-brew  =  ale  or 
whisky:  'barley-brie  cement  the  quarrel,' 
'  taste  the  barley-bree.' 

Barm,  yeast:  'that  clarty  barm  should 
stain  my  laurels.' 

Bar7nie,  yeasty. 

Barn-yard,  stackyard. 

Bartie,  the  Devil :  '  as  fou  as  Bartie.' 

Bashi77g,  abashing:  '  bashing  and  dashing.' 

Batch,  a  number,  a  company :  '  batch  o' 
wabster  lads.' 

Batts,  the  botts  [applied  to  horses],  the 
colic :  '  a  country  laird  had  taen  the 
batts.' 

Bauckie-bird,  the  bat:  'wavering  like  the 
bauckie-bird.' 

Baudrons,  Baudrans,  the  cat :  '  a  winkin 
baudrons,'  '  like  baudrons  by  a  rattan,' 
'  auld  baudrans  by  the  ingle  sits.' 

Bank,  cross-beam  :  '  grapit  for  the  banks.' 

Bauk,  V.  Bawk. 

Bauk-e7i\  beam-end:  'or  whether 't  was  a 
bauk -en'.' 

Ba7ild,  bold. 

Bauldest,  boldest. 

Bauldly,  boldly. 

Bau777y,  balmy. 

Bawbee,  a  halfpenny  [probably  a  babie 
penny]. 

Bawdro7is,  v.  Baudro7is. 

Bawk,  a  field-path  :  '  a  corn-inclosed  bawk.' 

Baws'ttt,  white-streaked :  '  sonsie,  baws'nt 
face.' 

Bawtie,  pet  name  for  a  dog :  '  my  auld  teeth- 
less  Bawtie.' 

Be,  alone  [/'.<?.  as  one  is  already]  :  '  an'  let 
poor  damned  bodies  be,'  '  let  a  body  be.' 


GLOSSARY. 


387 


Bear,  barley. 

Bens',  beasts,  vermin  \_i.e.  lice]  :  '  grey  wi* 
beas'.' 

Beastie,  dim.  oi  beast. 

Beck,  a  curtsy :  '  she  '11  gie  ye  a  beck.' 

Beet,  feed,  kindle,  fan,  add  fuel  to :  '  beet 
his  hymeneal  flame,' '  it  heats  me,  it  beets 
me,'  'or  noble  Elijin  beets,'  'it  's  plenty 
beets  the  lover's  fire."  Cf.  Chaucer, '  Two 
fires  on  the  autor  [altar]  gan  she  beete,' 
Knighfs  Tale,  Catiterbury  Tales,  2292. 

Befa,  befall. 

Behin  ,  behint,  behind. 

Beild,  V.  Biel. 

Belang,  belong. 

Be  Id,  bald. 

BelluiH,  assault :  '  brawlie  ward  their  bel- 
lum.' 

Bellys,  bellows. 

Belyve,  by  and  by :  '  belyve  the  elder  bairns,* 
'  weel-swall'd  kytes  belyve  are  bent.' 

Ben,  a  parlour. 

Ben,  into  the  spence  or  parlour  (R.  B.). 

Benmost,  inmost :  '  benmost  bore,'  '  benmost 
neuk.' 

Be-north,  to  the  northward  of. 

Be-south,  to  the  southward  of. 

Bethankit,  the  grace  after  meat  (R.  B.). 

Beuk,  a.  book :  '  devil's  pictur'd  beuks  '  = 
playing-cards. 

Beyont,  beyond. 

Bicker,  a  wooden  cup :  '  in  cog  or  bicker.' 

Bicker,  a  cupful,  a  glass  :  '  a  hearty  bicker.' 

Bicker,  a  short  run :  '  I  took  a  bicker.' 

Bicker,  to  flow  swiftly  and  with  a  slight 
noise:  'bicker'd  to  the  seas,'  'bickerin 
dancin  dazzle.'  Cf.  also  'smoke  and 
bickering  flame,'  Milton's  Paradise  Lost, 
vi.  766. 

Bickerin,  noisy  and  keen  contention  :  '  there 
will  be  bickerin  there.' 

Bickering,  hurrying  :  '  bickering  brattle.' 

Bid,  to  ask,  to  wish,  to  offer:  'bid  nae  bet- 
ter,' '  ne'er  bid  better.'     See  also  Bade. 

Bide,  abide.     See  also  Bade. 

Biel,  bield,  <i  shelter:  'hap  him  in  a  cozie 
biel,'  'the  random  bield  o'  clod  or  stane,' 
'  but  buss  and  bield,'  '  thy  bield  should  be 
my  bosom.' 

Biel,  bield,  a  sheltered  spot :  '  the  sun  blinks 
kindly  in  the  biel,'  '  roses  blaw  in  ilka 
bield.' 


Bien,  prosperous,  comfortable:    ' bien  and 

snug,'  '  her  house  sae  bien.' 
Bien,  bienly,  comfortably:  'that  deeds  me 

bien,'  '  bienly  clad.' 
Big,  to  build. 
Biggin,  building. 
^'£'S''">  ^  structure,  a  dwelling :    '  the  auld 

clay  biggin," '  houlet-haunted  biggin.' 
Bike,  v.  Byke. 

Bill,  the  bull :  '  as  yell's  the  bill/ 
Billie,    fellow,    comrade,   brother    [several 

examples  of  each  of  these  meanings]. 
Billy,  William. 

Bi7igs,  heaps  :  '  potatoe-bings.' 
Birdie,  dim.  of  bird,  also  maidens:  'bonie 

birdies.'     See  also  Burdie. 
Birk,  the  birch. 
Birken,  birchen. 

Birkie,  a  fellow  [usually  implies  conceit]. 
Birr,  force,  vigour :  '  wi'  a'  my  birr.' 
Birring,  whirring:  '  birring  paitricks.' 
Birses,   bristles :    '  tirl   the   bullions   to  the 

birses.' 
Birth,  berth  :  '  a  birth  afore  the  mast.' 
Bit,  small  [e.g.  a  bit  beauty,  bit  brugh,  bit 

lassie,  etc.]. 
Bit,  nick  of  time  :  'just  at  the  bit.' 
Bitch-fou,  completely  drunk. 
Bizz,  a  flurry :  '  that  day  when  in  a  bizz.' 
Bizz,  to  buzz. 
Bizzard,  the  buzzard. 
Bizzie,  busy. 
Black-bonnet,  the  elder :    '  a  greedy  glowr 

black-bonnet  throws,'  '  an"  douse  black- 
bonnet.' 
Black-nebbit,  black-beaked :    '  black-nebbit 

Johnie.' 
Blae,  blue,  livid. 
Blastet,  blastit,  blasted  [used  in  contempt 

and  =  damn'd]  :    'wee,    blastit    wonner," 

'creepin,  blastit   wonner,'    '  onie    blastit, 

moorland  toop.' 
Blastie,  a   blasted    \i.e.  damn'd]  creature: 

'the  blastie's  makin,'  '  red-wud  Kilbirnie 

blastie.' 
Blate,  (i)  modest:  '  owre  blate  to  seek";  (2) 

bashful,  shy  :  '  nor  blate  nor  scaur,'  '  some 

unco  blate,' '  but  blate  and  laithfu','  'young 

and  blate,'  '  steer  her  up,  an"  be  na  blate." 
Blather,  bladder. 
Blaud,  a  large  quantity,  a  screed  :  '  a  hearty 

blaud,' '  a  blaud  o'  Johnie's  morals.' 


GLOSSARY, 


Blaud,  to  slap :  '  he 's  the  boy  will  blaud  her." 
Blaudin,  driving.pelting : '  the  bitter,  blaudin 

show'r.' 
Blaw,  to  blow. 
Blaw,  to  brag,  to  boast :  '  blaw  about  my- 

sel,' '  he  brags  and  he  blaws  o'  his  siller." 
Blawing,  blowing. 
Blawn,  blown. 
Bleer,  to  blear. 
Bleer't,  bleated. 
Bleezd,  blazed. 
Bleeze,  a  blaze. 
Bleezin,  blazing. 
Dlelluni,  (i)  a  babbler :  '  drunken  blellum  '; 

(2)  a  railer :  '  sour-mou'd,  girnin  blellum  ' ; 

(3)  a  blusterer :  '  to  cowe  tne  blellums.' 
Blether,  blethers,  nonsense. 

Blether,  to  talk  nonsense. 

Bletherin',  talking  nonsense. 

Blin',  bhnd. 

Blin,  to  blind. 

Blink,  a  glance,  a  moment,  a  short  period 
[several  examples  of  each  of  these  mean- 
ings]. 

Blink,  to  glance,  to  shine. 

Blinkers,  (i)  spies:  'seize  the  blinkers'; 
(2)  oglers  :  '  delicious  blinkers.' 

Blinkin,  blinking,  shining. 

Blinkin,  (i)  smirking:  'Blinkin  Bess  of 
Annandale  ' ;  (2)  leering  :  '  are  blinkin  at 
the  entry.' 

Blin't,  blinded  :  '  blin't  his  e'e.' 

Butter,  the  snipe  :  '  blitter  frae  the  boggie.' 

Blue-gown,  the  livery  of  the  licensed  beg- 
gar :  '  the  Blu'e-gown  badge.' 

Bluid,  blood. 

Bluidy,  bloody. 

Blume,  to  bloom. 

I'lunfie,  a  stupid  \_i.e.  one  who  is  n't  sharp]  : 
'  gar  me  look  like  bluntie.' 

Blypes,  shreds :  '  till  skin  in  blypes  cam 
haurlin.' 

Bobbed,  curtsied :  '  When  She  Cam  Ben 
She  Bobbed.' 

Backed,  vomited  :  '  or  thro'  the  mining  out- 
let bocked.' 

Boddle,  a  farthing  [properly  two  pennies 
Scots,  or  one-third  of  an  English  penny] : 
'  he  car'd  na  deils  a  boddle,'  '  I  '11  wad  a 
boddle.' 

Bodkin,  tailor's  needle :  '  your  bodkin  's 
bauld,' 


Body,  bodie,  a  person,  a  creature. 

Boggie,  dim.  of  bog:   'the  blitter  fj-ae  the 

boggie.' 
Bogle,  a  bogie,  a  hobgoblin :   '  lest  bogles 

catch  him  unawares,'  '  nae  nightly  bogle 

make  it  eerie,'  '  Ghaist  nor  bogle,'  '  the 

silly  bogles.  Wealth  and  State.' 
Bole,  a  hole,  or  small  recess  in  the  wall: 

*  there  sat  a  bottle  in  a  bole.' 
Bonie,  bomiie,  pretty,  beautiful. 
Botiilie,  prettily. 
Bo7i?iock,  V.  Bannock. 
'Boon,  above. 
Boord,  board,   surface:    'the  jingling   icy 

boord.' 
Boord-en',  board  end :  '  sitting  at  yon  boord- 

en'.' 
Boortrees,  '  the  shrub-elder,  planted   much 

of  old  in  hedges  of  barnyards,'  etc.  (R. 

B.)  :  '  thro'  the  boortrees  comin.' 
^(7(3J-/,  behoove,  must  needs  :  '  I  shortly  boost 

to  pasture,'  '  like  a   blockhead,  boost  to 

ride.' 
Boot,  payment  to  the  bargain :  '  the  boot  and 

better  horse,'  '  the  saul  of  boot,'  '  O'  boot 

that  night.' 
Bore,  a  chink,  a  small  hole,  an  opening : 

'  thro'  ilka  bore  the  beams  were  glancing,' 

'  the  benmost  bore,'  '  to  guard,  or  draw,  or 

wick  a  bore.' 
Botch,  an  angry  tumor  (R.  B.)  :  '  scabs  and 

botches.' 
Bouk,  a  human  trunk  [Eng.  bulk :   cf.  '  to 

shatter  all  his  bulk,'  Shak.  Hamlet,  ii.  i. 

95]  :  '  and  monie  a  bouk  did  fa'.' 
'Bout,  about. 
Bow-hough' d,  bandy-thighed  :  '  she  's  bough- 

hough'd,  she  's  hem-shin'd.' 
Bow-kail,   cabbage :    '  wandered   thro'   the 

bow-kail,'  'his  bow-kail  runt.' 
Bow't,  bent :  '  like  a  sow-tail  sae  bow't. 
Brackens,   ferns :    '  amang    the    brachens.' 

See  also  Breckan. 
Brae,  a  small  hill,  the  slope  of  a  hill. 
Braid,  broad. 
Braid-claith,  broadcloth. 
Braik,  a  harrow :  '  in  pleugh  or  braik.' 
Braing't,  pulled  rashly  : '  thou  never  braing't, 

an'  fetch't,  an'  fiiskit.' 
Brak,  broke. 
Brake,  broke. 
Brak 's,  broke  his. 


GLOSSARY. 


389 


Branks,  a  wooden  curb,  a  bridle  :  '  As  cheeks 

o'  branks,'  '  goavin  's  he  'd  been   led  wi' 

branks,'  '  wi'  braw  new  branks,'  '  if   the 

beast  and  branks  be  spar'd.' 
Branky,  spruce :  '  whaur  hae  ye  been  sae 

brankie,  O. 
Braii'y,  brandy. 
Brash,   short  illness :    '  monie  a  pain  an' 

brash.' 
Brats,  small  pieces,  rags :   '  brats  o'  claes,' 

'  brats  o"  duddies.' 
Brats,  small    children :   '  our   ragged  brats 

and  callets,'  'wives  and  dirty  brats.' 
Brattle,  a  spurt,  a  scamper :  '  waur't  thee 

for  a  brattle,' '  wi'  bickering  brattle.' 
Brattle,  noisy  onset :  '  brattle  ©'winter  war.' 
Brazt),  handsome,  fine,  gaily  dressed  [many 

examples  of  each  of  these  meanings]. 
Brazvlie,  finely,  perfectly,  heartily. 
Braxies,  sheep   that   have   died   of  braxie 

[a  disease]  :  'guid  fat  braxies.' 
Breastie,  dim.  oi  breast. 
Breastif,  sprang  forward  :  '  thou  never  lap, 

an'  sten't,  an'  breastit.' 
Brechan,   a    horse    collar :    '  a    braw    new 

brechan.' 
Breckan,  ferns :    '  yon   lone   glen   o'   green 

brechan.'     See  also  Brackens. 
Breedin,  breeding,  i.e.  manners :  '  has  nae 

sic  breedin.' 
Breeks,  breeches. 
Breer,  briar. 

Brent,  brand  :  '  brent  new  frae  France.* 
Brent,  straight,  steep  \i.e.  not  sloping  from 

baldness]  :  '  your  bonie  brow  was  brent.' 
Brief,  writ :  '  King  David  o'  poetic  brief.' 
Brier,  briar. 
Briery,  briary. 
Brig,  bridge. 

Brisket,  breast :  '  thy  weel-fill'd  brisket.' 
Br  it  her,  brother. 
Brock,  a  badger :  '  a  stinking  brock,'  '  wil- 

cat,  brock,  an'  tod.' 
Brogue,  a  trick  :  '  an'  play'd  on  man  a  cursed 

brogue.' 
Broo,  soup,  broth  :  '  the  flesh  to  him,  the  broo 

to  me,' '  suppin'  hen-broo,' '  dogslike  broo.' 
Broo,  brew,  liquid,  water :  *  the  snaw-broo 

rowes,' '  I  've  borne  aboon  the  broo.' 
Brooses,  wedding  races  from  the  church  to 

the  home  of  the  bride  :  '  at  brooses  thou 

had  ne'er  a  fellow.' 


Brose,  a  thick  mixture  of  meal  and  warm 

water,  also  a  synonym  for  porridge  :  '  they 

maun  hae  brose,'  '  then  cogs  o'  brose,'  '  yc 

butter'd  my  brose.' 
Browst,  malt  liquor  [and  properly  the  whole 

liquor  brewed  at  one  time] :  '  the  browst 

she  brew'd.' 
Broiuster  wives,  ale  wives  :  '  browster  wives 

an'  whisky-stills.' 
Brngh,  a  burgh,  a  borough. 
Brulzie,  brulyie,  (i)   a  brawl :  '  than  mind 

sic  brulzie  ' ;    (2)   brangle :    '  Hell  mixed 

in  the  brulyie,'  '  wha  in  a  brulyie.* 
Brunstane,  brimstone. 
Brufit,  burned. 
Brust,  burst. 
Buckie,  dim.  of  buck,  a  smart  younker :  '  that 

daft    buckie,   Geordie  Wales,'   '  envious 

buckies.' 
Buckle,   a   curl :    '  his   hair   has   a   natural 

buckle.' 
Buckskin,  Virginian:  'the  buckskins  claw,' 

'  the  buckskin  kye.' 
Budget,  tinker's  bag  of  tools :  '  the  budget 

and  the  apron,'  '  here  's  to  budgets.' 
Buff,  to  bang,  to  thump :  '  buff  our  beef.' 
Bughtin,  folding  \i.e.  gathering  sheep  into 

the  fold]  :  '  tells  bughtin  time  is  near,  my 

jo.' 
Buirdly,  (i)  stout,  stalwart :  '  buirdly  chiels ' ; 

(2)  stately  :  '  a  filly  buirdly.' 
Bwn,  the  buttocks :  '  many  a  tatter'd  rag 

hanging  over  my  bum.' 
Bum,  to  hum  :  '  ayont  the  dyke  she  's  heard 

you  bummin,'  'bum  owre  their  treasure.' 
Bum-clock,    the    beetle :     '  the    bum-clock 

humm'd  wi'  lazy  drone.' 
Bummle,  a  drone,  a  useless  fellow :  '  some 

drowzy  bummle.' 
Bunker,  a  seat :  '  a  wunnock-bunker  in  the 

east.' 
Bunters,  harlots  :  '  and  kissing  barefit  hun- 
ters.' 
Bur  dies,   dim.   of  bird  or   burd  [a    lady], 

maidens :  '  ae  blink  o'  the  bonie  burdies. 

See  also  Birdie.     Cf.  Burd  Ellen. 
Bure,  tjore. 
Burn,  a  rivulet. 
Burnewin,   the    blacksmith    \i.e.  burn    the 

wind] :  '  then   Burnewin   comes  on  Hke 

death.' 
Burnie,  dim.  oi  burn  [a  rivulet]. 


390 


GLOSSARY. 


Durr-thistle ,  spear-thistle:  'the  rough  burr- 
thistle  spreading  wide.' 

Busk,  (i)  to  dress,  to  garb  :  '  New  Brig  was 
buskit  in  a  braw  new  coat,'  'they'll  busk 
her  like  a  fright,"  'busking  bowers';  (2) 
to  dress  up  :  '  busks  his  skinklin  patches  ' ; 
(3)  to  trim,  to  adorn:  'her  bonie  buskit 
nest,'  '  weel  buskit  up  sae  gaudy.' 

Busking,  V.  Busk. 

Buskit,  V.  Busk. 

Buss,  a  bush :  '  like  a  rash-buss  stood  in 
sight,'  '  but  buss  or  bield.' 

Bussle,  bustle. 

But,  without. 

^ut,  butt,  in  the  kitchen  \i.e.  the  outer  apart- 
ment], '  butt  the  house  '  =  in  the  kitchen. 
•See  also  Ben. 

By,  past,  aside. 

By,  beside. 

By  hiinsel,  beside  himself,  off  his  wits : 
'  monie  a  day  was  by  himsel.' 

Bye  attour  [i.e.  'by  and  attour '^beside 
and  at  a  distance],  moreover:  'bye  attour 
my  gutcher  has.' 

Byke,  (i)  a  bees'  nest,  a  hive  :  '  assail  their 
byke' ;  (2)  a  swarm,  a  crowd ;  '  the  glow- 
rin  byke,'  '  the  hungry  bike.' 

Byre,  a  cowhouse. 

Ca',  a  call. 

Ca  ,  to  call. 

Ca  ,  a  knock. 

Ca,  to   knock    [e.g.  a   nail],   to   drive  [e.g. 

cattle]. 
Ca'd,  ca't,  called. 
Ca'd,  ca't,  knocked,  driven. 
Cadger,   a    hawker :    '  a    cadger    pownie's 

death,'  '  like  onie  cadger's  whup." 
Cadie,   caddie,    a   varlet :    '  e'en    cowe    the 

cadie,"  '  Auld- Light  caddies.' 
Caff,  chaff. 
Caird,  a  tinker. 
Calf-ward,    grazing    plot    for    calves    [i.e. 

churchyard]. 
Callan,  callant,  a  stripling. 
Caller,   cool,   refreshing:    'the   caller  air,' 

'  little  fishes'  caller  rest.' 
Callet,  a  trull :  '  my  bottle  and  my  callet,' 

'  our  ragged  brats  and  callets.' 
Ca77i,  came. 
Canie,    cannie,    (i)    gentle:     'bonie    w^ee 

thing,  cannie  wee  thing,'  '  cannie  young 


man  ' :  (2)  tractable  :  '  tawie,  quiet,  an' 
cannie  ' ;  (3)  quiet :  '  a  cannie  errand,'  '  a 
cannie  hour  at  e'en,'  '  then  cannie,'  *  kind 
and  cannie  ' ;  (4)  prudent :  '  wi'  cannie 
care  ' ;  (5)  careful :  '  cannie  for  hoarding 
o'  money.' 

Cankrie,  crabbed :  '  O'  cankrie  Care.* 

Canna,  cannot. 

Ca?i?iie,  (i)  gently:  '  straik  her  cannie';  (2) 
quietly  :  '  slade  cannie  to  her  bed  ' ;  (3) 
sensibly:  'and  cannie  wale';  (4)  care- 
fully :  '  I  maun  guide  it  cannie ' ;  (5)  ex- 
pertly :  '  nickin  down  fu'  cannie.' 

Cafiniest,  quietest :  '  the  canniest  gate,  the 
strife  is  sair.' 

Cannilie,  caiinily,  quietly,  prudently,  cau- 
tiously: '  cannilie  he  hums  them,'  '  can- 
nily  keekit  ben,'  '  cannily  steal  on  a  bonie 
moor-hen.' 

Cantie,  cheerful,  lively,  jolly,  merry  [very 
many  examples]. 

Cantraip,  (i)  magic  :  '  by  cantraip  wit,' '  can- 
traip  sleight ' ;  (2)  witching  :  '  some  can- 
traip hour.' 

Cants,  (i)  merry  stories :  'monie  cracks 
and  cants ' ;  (2)  canters  or  sprees  or 
merry  doings  :  '  a'  my  cants.' 

Cape-statie,  cope-stone. 

Capon,  castrate  :  '  their  capon  cries.* 

Car'd  na  by,  cared  not  a  jot. 

Care  na  by,  (i)  do  not  care,  (2)  care  noth- 
ing, (3)  care  not  although  you  do. 

Carl,  carle  [from  churl],  a  man,  an  old  man. 

Carl-hemp,  male-hemp  :  '  thou  stalk  o'  carl- 
hemp.' 

Carlie,  a  mannikin:  '  a  fusionless  carlie.' 

Carlin,  carline,  a  middle-aged,  or  old 
woman,  a  beldam,  a  witch. 

Carmagnole,  a  violent  Jacobin  :  '  that  curst 
carmagnole  Auld  Satan.' 

Cartes,  playing  cards. 

Cartie,  dim.  of  cart:  '  or  hurl  in  a  cartie.' 

Ca't,  V.  Ca'd. 

Catch-the-plack,  the  hunt  for  coin. 

Caudro7i,  a  caldron  :  '  fry  them  in  his  cau- 
drons.'     V.  Cauldron. 

Cauf,  a  calf. 

Cauf-leather ,  calf-leather. 

Cauk,  chalk  :  '  o'  caulk  and  keel  *  =  in  chalk 
and  ruddle. 

Cauld,  cold. 

Cauld,  the  cold. 


GLOSSARY. 


391 


Cauldness,  coldness. 

Cauldron,  caldron :  '  clout  the  cauldron.' 
V.  Caudron. 

Caup,  a  wooden  drinking-vessel  [/>.  cup] : 
'the  lugget  caup,'  'yill-caup  commenta- 
tors," '  in  cogs  an'  caups,'  '  that  kiss'd  his 
caup." 

Causey-cleaners,  causeway-cleaners. 

Cavic,  a  hen-coop:  '  behint  the  chicken- 
cavic' 

C/tamer,  chaumer,  chamber. 

Change-house,  tavern. 

Chanter,  (i)  bagpipes,  the  pipe  of  the  bag- 
pipes which  produces  the  melody  :  '  your 
chanters  tune,'  '  chanters  winna  hain  ' ; 
(2)  syn.  for  song :  '  quat  my  chanter.' 

Chap,  a  fellow,  a  young  fellow. 

Chap,  to  strike  :  '  ay  chap  the  thicker.' 

Chapma7i,  a  pedler. 

Chaumer,  v.  Chamer. 

Chaup  (or  chap),  a  stroke,  a  blow  :  '  at  ev'ry 
chaup.' 

Chear,  cheer,  to  cheer. 

Chcarfu' ,  cheerful. 

Chearless,  cheerless. 

Cheary,  cheery. 

Cheek-for-chow,  cheek  by  jowl  \_i.e.  close 
beside]  :  '  cheek-for-chow  a  chuffie  vint- 
ner,' '  cheek-for-chow,  shall  jog  thegither.' 

Cheep,  peep,  squeak :  '  wi'  tunefu'  cheep,' 
'  cheeps  like  some  bewildered  chicken.' 

Chiel,  chield  [i.e.  child],  a  fellow,  a  young 
fellow  [indicates  approval]. 

Chimla,  chimney. 

Chow,  V.  Cheek-for-chow. 

Chows,  chews. 

Chuck,  di  hen,  a  dear:  'the  martial  chuck.' 
Cf,  '  pray  chuck  come  hither,'  Shak. 
Othello,  iv.  2.  24. 

Chuckle,  dim.  of  chuck,  but  usually  signifies 
mother-hen,  an  old  dear :  '  auld  chuckie 
Reekie,'  'a  daintie[y]  chuckie.' 

Chuffie,  fat-faced  :  '  a  chufifie  vintner.' 

Chuse,  to  choose. 

at,  the  civet:  'the  cit  and  polecat  stink.' 

at,  a  citizen,  a  merchant. 

Clachan,  a  small  village  about  a  church,  a 
hamlet  (R.  B.)  :  'the  clachan  yill,'  'Jock 
Hornbook  i'  the  clachan,'  '  within  the 
clachan.' 

Claeding,  clothing. 

Claes,  claise,  clothes, 


Claith,  cloth. 

Claithing,  clothing. 

Claivers,  v.  Clavers. 

Clankie,  a  severe  knock :    '  Clavers  got  a 

clankie,  O.' 
Clap,  the  clapper  of  a  mill:  'and  still  the 

clap  plays  clatter.' 
Clark,    clerkly,    scholarly :     '  learned     and 

dark.' 
Clark,  a  clerk  :  '  like  onie  dark.* 
Clarkit,  clerked,  wrote:    'in   a   bank  and 

clarkit.' 
Clarty,  dirty :  '  clarty  barm.' 
Clash,  an  idle  tale,  the  story  of  a  day  (R. 

B.)  :  '  the  countra  clash.' 
Clash,  to  tattle. 
Clatter,  (i)  noise  :  '  the  dap  players  clatter' 

\i.e.  clapper],  '  bade  me  mak  nae  clatter  ' ; 

(2)   tattle,  gossip  :    '  kintra   clatter  ' ;    (3) 

talk :    '  sangs   and   clatter,'   '  anither  gies 

them  clatter  ' ;    (4)   disputation  :   '  a'  this 

clatter ' ;   (5)  babble  :  '  rhymin  clatter.' 
Clatter,  (i)  to  make  a  uoise  by  striking : 

'  the  pint-stowp  clatters,'  '  gar  him  clatter', 

'clatter  on  my  stumps';    (2)  to  babble: 

'  the  gossips  clatter  bright ' ;  (3)  to  prattle  : 

'clatters,  "Tarn  Samson's  dead."' 
Claught,  clutched,  seized  :  '  claught  her  by 

the  rump,'  '  claught  th'  unfading  garland.' 
Claughtin,  clutching,  grasping  :   '  claughtin 

't  together.' 
Claut,  (i)  a  clutch  :  '  our  sinfu'  saul  to  get 

a  claut  on ' ;    (2)  a  handful :  '  a  claut  o' 

gear.' 
Claut,  to  scrape  :  '  ye  claut  my  byre.' 
Clautet,   scraped :    '  the    laggen    they    hae 

clautet.' 
Claver,  clover. 
Clavers,  (i)  gossip :  '  clavers  and  havers 

(2)  nonsense:  'heaps  o'  clavers.' 
Claw,  a  scratch,  a  blow. 
Claxv,  to  scratch,  to  strike. 
Clay-cauld,  clay-cold. 
Claymore,  a  two-handed  Highland  sword: 

'  an'  guid  claymore,'  '  wi'  dirk,  claymore.' 
Cleckin,   a    brood :    '  its    minnie    and    the 

cleckin.' 
Cleed,  to  clothe. 
Cleek,  to  snatch  :  '  cleek  the  steriin  *  =  pinch 

the  ready. 
Cleekit,  took  hold  :  'they  cross'd,  they cleekit.' 
Cleg,  gadfly ;  '  the  clegs  o'  feeling  stang.' 


392 


GLOSSARY. 


Clink,  (i)  a  sharp  stroke :  '  her  doup  a 
clink  ' ;   (2)  jingle  :  '  o'  rhymin  clink.' 

Clink,  (i)  money,  coin:  'o'  needfu'  clink'; 
(2)  wealth:  '  the  name  o'  clink.' 

Clink,  to  chink :  '  he  '11  clink  in  the  hand.' 

Clink,  to  rhyme:  '  mak  it  clink,'  'gar  them 
clink.' 

Clinkin,  with  a  smart  motion :  '  clinkin' 
down  beside  him.' 

Clitikufji,  Clinkumbell,  the  beadle,  the  bell- 
man: '  auld  Ciinkum  at  the  inner  port,' 
'Clinkumbell,  wi'  rattlin  tow.' 

Clips,  shears  :  '  ne'er  cross'd  the  clips.' 

Clish-ma-claver,  (i)  gossip,  tale-telling: 
'for  a'  their  clish-ma-claver';  (2)  non- 
sense, idle  talk  :  '  what  farther  clish-ma- 
claver  might  been  said.' 

Clockin-time,  clucking-  [=  hatching-]  time: 
'  the  clockin-time  is  by.' 

Cloot,  the  hoof  in  general,  the  half  of  the 
cloven  hoof:  'upon  her  cloot  she  coost  a 
hitch,' '  an'  wear  his  cloots.' 

Clootie,  Cloots,  Hoofie,  Hoofs  [a  fiickname 
of  the  Devil]  :  '  Auld  Cloots,'  '  Nick  or 
Clootie,'   'auld   Cloven-Clootie's  haunts.' 

Clour,  a  bump  or  swelling  after  a  blow  (R. 
B.)  :  '  clours  an'  nicks.' 

Clout,  (i)  a  cloth,  a  rag:  'wi'  lies  seam'd 
like  a  beggar's  clout ' ;  (2)  a  patch  :  '  per- 
haps a  clout  may  fail  in 't.'  See  also 
Babie-clout. 

Clout,  to  patch  :  '  clout  the  cauldron,'  '  clout 
the  bad  girdin  o  't,'  '  reft  and  clouted,' 
'  cloutin  a  kettle.' 

Clud,  a  cloud". 

Clunk,  to  make  a  hollow  sound :  '  made 
the  bottle  clunk.' 

Coatie,  dim.  of  coat. 

Coble,  a  broad  and  flat  boat :  '  wintle  like  a 
saumont-coble.' 

Cock,  the  mark  [in  curling]  :  '  station  at  the 
cock.' 

Cockie,  dim.  of  cock  [applied  to  an  old 
man]  :  '  my  guid  auld  cockie.' 

Cocks,  fellows,  good  fellows :  '  my  hearty 
cocks,'  '  the  wale  o'  cocks.' 

Cod,  a  pillow :  '  a  cod  she  laid  below  my 
head,'  '  the  cradle  wants  a  cod.' 

Coft,  bought :  '  coft  for  her  wee  Nannie,'  '  I 
coft  a  stane  o'  haslock  woo,'  '  that  coft 
enjoyment.' 

Cog,   (i)    a   wooden    drinking-vessel :    'in 


cogs  an'  caups,* '  in  cog  or  bicker,'  '  cog 
an'  ye  were  ay  fou,'  '  a  cog  o'  guid  swats  ' ; 

(2)  a  porridge-dish  :  '  their  cogs  o'  brose  ' ; 

(3)  a  corn  measure  for  horses:  'thy  cog 
a  wee  bit  heap.' 

Coggie,  dim.  of  cog,  a  little  dish. 

Coil,  Coila,  Kyle  [one  of  the  ancient  dis- 
tricts of  Ayrshire]. 

Collie,  (i)  a  general,  and  sometimes  a  par- 
ticular, name  for  country  curs  (R.  B.)  ; 
(2)  a  sheep-dog:  'a  ploughman's  collie.' 

Collieshangie,  a  squabble :  '  or  how  the 
coUieshangie  works.' 

Cood,  cud. 

Coof,  V.  Cuif. 

Cookin,  cooking. 

Cookit,  hid  :  '  cookit  underneath  the  braes.* 

Coor,  cover :  '  coor  their  fuds.' 

Cooser,  a  courser,  a  stallion :  '  a  perfect 
kintra  cooser.' 

Coost  [i.e.  cast],  (i)  looped :  '  coost  a  hitch ' ; 

(2)  threw  off:  '  coost  their  claes,'  '  coost 

her  duddies  ' ;   (3)  tossed:  '  Maggie  coost 

•  her  head';    (4)  chucked:  'coost  it  in  a 

corner.' 

Cootie,  a  small  pail :  '  the  brunstane  cootie.' 

Cootie,  leg-plumed  :  '  cootie  moorcocks.' 

Corbies,  ravens,  crows  :  '  corbies  and  clergy.' 

Core,  corps. 

Corn  mou,  corn  heap  :  '  commend  me  to  the 
corn  mou.' 

Corn't,  fed  with  corn  :  '  thou  was  corn't.' 

Corse,  corpse  :  '  the  pale  corse  on  the  plain.' 

Corss,  cross  :    '  Mauchline  Corss.' 

Cou'dna,  couldna,  could  n't. 

Countra,  country. 

Coup,  to  capsize :  '  coup  the  cran '  =  upset 

the  pot. 
.  Couthie,  couthy,   (i)  loving :  *  couthie  For- 
tune ' ;  (2)  affable :  *  fu'  couthy  and  sweet.' 

Couthie,  comfortably :  '  kindle  couthie,  side 
by  side.' 

Cowe,  to  scare,  to  daunt :  '  cowe  the  cadie,' 
'  cowe  the  louns,'  'cowe  the  blellums,' 
'  cowe  the  lairds,"  '  cowe  the  rebel  genera- 
tion.' 

Cowe,  to  crop :  '  cowe  her  measure  shorter.' 

Crack,  (i)  tale  : '  tell  your  crack  ' ;  (2)  a  chat : 
'  a  hearty  crack,'  '  ca'  the  crack  '  =  have  a 
chat ;  (3)  talk :  '  hear  your  crack,'  '  for 
crack  that  day.' 

Crack,  to  chat,  to  talk :  '  the  father  cracks 


GLOSSARY. 


393 


of  horses,'  'wha  will  crack  to  me  my 
lane." 

Crac kin,  conveTs'mg:  '  crackin  crouse.' 

Cracks,  (i)  stories:  'cracks  and  cants'; 
(2)  conversation :  '  gashing  at  their 
cracks,'  '  an'  friendly  cracks.' 

Craft,  croft. 

Craft-rig,  croft-ridge. 

Craig,  the  throat :  '  that  nicket  Abel's  craig.' 

Craig,  a  crag. 

Craigie,  dim.  of  craig,  the  throat :  '  weet  my 
craigie,'  '  thy  bonie  craigie.' 

Craigy,  craggy. 

Craik,  the  corn-crake,  the  land-rail :  '  the 
craik  amang  the  clover  hay,'  '  mourn 
clam'ring  craiks,  at  close  o'  day." 

Crambo-clink,  rhyme :  '  live  by  crambo- 
clink.' 

Crainbo-jingle,  rhyming:  'I  to  the  crambo- 
jingle  fell.' 

Cran,  the  support  for  a  pot  or  kettle :  '  coup 
the  cran.' 

Crankrus,  fretful :  '  in  crankous  mood.* 

Cranks,  creakings  :  '  what  tuneless  cranks.* 

Crameiich,  hoar-frost,  rime :  '  cranreuch 
cauld,'  '  hoary  cranreuch  drest.' 

Crap,  crop. 

Crap,  to  crop  :  '  that  crap  the  heather  bud.' 

Craps,  (i)  crops:  'his  craps  and  kye,' 
(2)  tops  :  '  craps  o'  heather  '  =  heather- 
tops. 

Craw,  crow. 

Creel,  an  osier  basket :  '  my  senses  wad  be 
in  a  creel '  =  I  would  be  perplexed,  '  in 
Death's  fish-creel,'  '  nieves,  like  midden- 
creels.* 

Creepie-chair,  stool  of  repentance  :  '  mount 
the  creepie-chair.'  See  also  Cutty- 
stools. 

Creeshie,  greasy. 

Crocks,  old  ewes  :  '  tent  the  waifs  an'  crocks.' 

Cronie,  intimate  friend. 

Crooded,  cooed:  'a  cushat  crooded  o'er 
me.' 

Croods,  coos  :  '  the  cushat  croods.' 

Croon,  (i)  moan  :  '  wi'  eldritch  croon  ' ;  (2)  a 
low :  '  an  outler  quey  gat  up  an'  gae  a 
croon,'  (3)  note:  'the  melancholious 
croon,'  '  melancholious,  sairie  croon.' 

Croon,  to  toll :  '  jow  an'  croon.' 

Croon  d,  hummed:  '  croon'd  his  gamut.' 

Crooning,  humming :  '  crooning  to  a  body's 


sel,*  '  crooning  o'er  some  auld  Scots  son- 
net.' 

Croose,  crouse,  (i)  cocksure:  'keen  an' 
croose  ' ;  (2)  set :  '  when  I  grow  crouse  ' ; 
(3)  proud  :  '  crouse  and  canty.' 

Crouchie,  hunchbacked  :  '  crouchie  Merran 
Humphie.' 

Crouse,  cheerfully :  '  crackin  crouse.'  V. 
Croose. 

Crousely,  confidently  :  '  crousely  craw.* 

Crowdie,  meal  and  cold  water,  meal  and 
milk,  porridge:  'wi'  crowdie  unto  me,' 
'ance  crowdie,  twice  crowdie,'  etc. 

Crowdie-time,  porridge-time  \i.e.  breakfast- 
time]. 

Crowlin,  crawling:  'ye  crowlin  ferlie.* 

Crummie,  a  horned  cow  :  '  auld  Crummie's 
nicks.' 

Crummock,  cummock,  a  cudgel,  a  crooked 
staff  [cf.  the  Gaelic  or  Welsh  cam  or 
cuju  =  the  crook  of  a  stick,  and  camon  = 
Irish  hockey]  :  '  louping  and  flinging  on 
a  crummock,'  '  on  a  cummock  driddle.' 

Crump,  crisp :  '  farls  .  .  .  fu'  crump.' 

Crunt,  a  blow  :   '  wi'  hearty  crunt.' 

Cuddle,  to  fondle :  '  bairns'  bairns  kindly 
cuddle,'  '  cuddle  my  kimmer.' 

Cuddl'd,  fondled:  '  cuddl'd  me  late  and 
early.' 

Cuif,  coo/,  (i)  a  dolt,  a  ninny,  a  weakling: 
'  fumbling  cuifs,'  '  blockhead,  coof,' '  coofs 
on  countless  thousands  rant,'  '  cuifs  o' 
later  times,'  'a  wealthy  coof,' '  a  coof  .  .  . 
wi'  routh  o'  gear,'  '  he's  but  a  cuif,'  '  will 
be  nae  coof;  (2)  a  dastard:  'a  cuif  like 
him.' 

Cummock,  v.  Crummock. 

Curch,  a  kerchief  for  the  head :  '  her  curch 
sae  clean,'  '  I  tint  my  curch.' 

Curchie,  a  curtsy:  'wi'  a  curchie  low  did 
stoop.' 

Curler,  one  who  plays  at  curling  [a  game 
on  the  ice]  :  '  the  curlers  quat  their  roar- 
ing play,'  *  to  the  loughs  the  curlers 
flock.* 

Curmurring,  commotion:  '  curmurring  in 
his  guts.' 

Curpin,  the  crupper  of  a  horse:  '  haurls  at 
his  curpin.* 

Curple,  the  crupper  \i.e.  buttocks]  ;  '  hingin 
owre  my  curple.* 

Cushat,  the  wood  pigeon. 


394 


GLOSSARY. 


Custock,  the  pith  of  the  colewort :  '  gif  the 
custock's  sweet  or  sour.' 

Cuiesjeci  [properly  of  an  animal]  :  ankles: 
'  her  bonie  cutes  sae  sma'.' 

Cutty,  short:  'cutty  sark,'  'cutty  sarks.' 

Cutty-stools,  stools  of  repentance :  '  daft  bar- 
gains, cutty-stools.' 

Dad,  daddie,  father. 

Daez't,  dazed. 

Baffin,  larking,  fun:  'to  spend  an  hour  in 

daffin,'  'fits  o'  daffin,'  '  towsing  a  lass  i' 

my  daffin.' 
Daft,  mad,  foolish. 
Dalls,  planks  :  '  some  carryin  dails.' 
Daimen    icker,   an   odd   ear  of   corn :    '  a 

daimen  icker  in  a  thrave.' 
Dam,  pent  up  water,  urine :  '  ye  tine  your 

dam.' 
Damie,  dim.  of  dame. 
Dang,  dung  [pret.  of  di7ig\. 
Danton,  v.  Daunton. 
Darena,  dare  not. 
Darg,  labor,  task,  a  day's  labor :  '  nought 

but  his  han'  darg,' '  monie  a  sair  darg.' 
DarkUns,  in  the  dark:  'an'  darklins  grapit 

for  the  banks.' 
Daud,  to  pelt :  '  set  the  bairns  to  daud  her,' 

'  the  bitter,  daudin  showers.' 
Dau?ito7i,  to  daunt, 
Daur,  dare. 
Daurna,  dare  not. 
Daur't,  dared. 
Daut,  dawte,  to  fondle,  to  pet :  '  I  kiss  and 

daut  thee,'  '  kiss  and  dawte.' 
Dautet,     dawtit,    petted :     '  unco     muckle 

dautet,'  '  dawtit  twal-pint  hawkie.' 
Daw,  to  dawn  :  '  the  day  may  daw.' 
Dawds,  lumps,  large  portions :  '  an'  dawds 

that  day.' 
Dazohtg,  dawning. 
Dawtbigly ,   pettingly,    caressingly :    '  dawt- 

ingly  did  cheer  me.' 
Dead-sweer,  extremely  reluctant. 
Dearie,  dim.  of  dear. 
Deave.,  to  deafen. 
Deevil,  v,  Deil. 
Deil,  devil. 
Deil-haet    (i)    nothing    [Devil    have    it] : 

'  the    deil-haet    ails    them ' ;     (2)     Devil 

have    my  soul :    *  the   devil-haet  that   I 

sud  ban.' 


Deil-ma-care,  no   matter  [the   Devil    may 

care,  but  not  I]. 
Deleeret,  delirious,  mad :  '  an'  liv'd  an'  died 

deleeret.' 
Delvin,  digging:  'dubs  of  your  ain  delvin.' 
Dernd,  hid  [from  the  Old  Eng.   dearn  or 

dern :    '  that   dern   time,'  Craig's  Oxford 

Shak.  King  Lear,  iii.  i.  62] :  '  dern'd  in 

dens  and  hollows.' 
Descrive,  to  describe. 
Deuk  'j,  the  duck  has :  '  The  Deuk  's  Dang 

O'er  My  Daddie.' 
Deuks,  ducks :  '  your  deuks  and  geese.' 
Devel,  a  stunning  blow:  'an  unco  devel.' 
Diddle,    to    move    quickly    [of    fiddling] : 

'  elbuck  jink  an'  diddle.' 
Dight,  to  wipe. 
Dight,  winnowed,  sifted :  '  the  cleanest  corn 

that  e'er  was  dight.' 
Din,  dun,  muddy  of  complexion :  '  dour  and 

din.' 
Ding,  to  beat,  to  surpass. 
Ding,  be  beaten  or  upset:  'facts  are  chiels 

that  winna  ding.' 
Dink,  trim :    '  my   lady's   dink,   my   lady's 

drest.' 
Dintia,  do  not. 
Dirl,  to  vibrate,  to   ring  :    '  played  dirl '  = 

went  tinkle, '  roof  and  rafters  a'  did  dirl.' 

'  she  dirl'd  them  aff  fu'  clearly.' 
Diz^n,  dizzen,  dozen. 
Dochter,  daughter. 
Doggie,  dim.  oi  dog. 
Doited,    (i)     muddled:    'doited    Lear,'   'a 

doited   monkish   race,'   '  my  very  senses 

doited  ' ;    (2)  stupid,  bewildered  :  '  doited 

stots,'  '  the  doited  beastie  stammers,'  '  sae 

doited  and  blin'.' 
Donsie,    (i)    vicious,    bad-tempered :    '  ye 

ne'er  was   donsie  ' ;     (2)    restive  :    '  their 

donsie  tricks  ' ;  (3)  testy  :  '  ye  wad  na  been 

sae  donsie,  O.' 
Dool,  (i)  woe:  'sing  dool,'  'may  dool  and 

sorrow  be  his  lot,'  '  O,  dool  on  the  day' ; 

(2)  sorrow:    'to  sit   in   dool,'  'bitter  in 
dool,'  'care  and  dool,' '  dool  and  care'; 

(3)  '  dool  to  tell '  =  sad  to  tell. 
Doolfu',  doleful,  woful:    '  doolfu'  clamour,' 

'  the  doolfu'  tale.' 
Dorty,  pettish  :  '  tho'  a  minister  grow  dorty.' 
Douce,  douse,  sedate,   sober,  serious,   pru- 
dent :  '  douce  honest  woman," '  O  ye  douce 


GLOSSARY. 


395 


folk,'  'douce  or  merry  tale,' '  douce  con- 
veners,' '  douce  folk,'  '  tlirifty  citizens  an' 
douce,'  'douce  Wisdom's  door,'  'for  ye 
sae  douce,*  '  sae  curs<>d  douce.' 

Douce,  douccly,  donsely,  (i)  sedately  :  '  douce 
hingin  owre  my  curple';  (2)  prudently: 
'  doucely  manage  our  affairs,'  '  doucely 
fill  a  throne.' 

Doudl'd,  dandled  :  '  doudl'd  me  up  on  his 
knee.' 

Doiight  [pret.  of  do^tP^,  could  :  '  as  lang  '5  he 
dought,'  '  do  what  I  dought,'  '  dought  na 
bear  us.' 

Douked,  ducked :  '  in  monie  a  well  been 
douk^d.' 

Doup,  the  bottom. 

Doup-skelper,  bottom-smacker :  '  vile  doup- 
skelper,  Emperor  Joseph.' 

Dour,  doure,  (i)  stubborn,  obstinate: 
'  teughly  doure,'  '  the  tither's  dour,'  '  and 
Sackville  doure,'  '  dour  and  din ' ; 
(2)  cutting :  '  fell  and  doure.' 

Douse,  V.  Douce. 

Douser,  sedater  :  '  oughtlins  doucer.' 

Dow,  dowe,  am  [is  or  are]  able,  can:  'the 
best  they  dow,' '  dow  but  hoyte  and  hob- 
ble,' '  as  lang 's  I  dow,'  '  dow  scarcely 
spread  her  wing,'  '  hirples  twa-fold  as  he 
dow,'  '  dow  nocht  but  glow'r.' 

Dow,  a  dove,  a  pigeon:  '  like  frighted  dows, 
man.' 

Dowf,  dowff,  dull:  'her  dowff  excuses,' 
'  dowfif  an'  dowilie,'  '  dowf  and  weary.' 

Dowie,  drooping,  mournful :  '  our  Bardie, 
dowie,'  '  dowie,  stiff  and  crazy,'  '  dowie 
she  saunters,'  '  I  wander  dowie  up  the 
glen,'  'some  that  are  dowie.' 

Dowie,  mournfully:  'his  sad  complaining 
dowie  raves.' 

Dowilie,  drooping :  '  dowff  and  dowilie  they 
creep.' 

Downa,  cannot, 

Doiixna-do,  cannot-do. 

Doy/t,  stupid,  stupefied:  '  doylt,  drucken 
hash,'  '  he  's  doylt  and  he  's  dozin.' 

Doytin,  doddering  :  *  cam  doytin  by.' 

Dozen  d,  torpid  :  '  dearest  member  nearly 
dozen'd.' 

Dozin,  torpid  :  '  he  's  doylt  and  he  's  dozin." 

Draigit,  draggled. 

Drants,  prosings:  'to  wait  on  their  drants.' 

Drap,  drop. 


Drappie,  dim.  o{  drop. 

Drauuting,  tedious:  'draunting  drivel.' 

Dree,  (i)  endure:  '  dree  the  kintra  clatter', 

(2)  suffer:  'the  pangs  I  dree.' 
Dreigk,  v.  Driegh. 

Dribble,  drizzle :  '  the  winter's  sleety  dribble.' 

Driddle,  to  toddle  :  '  us'd  to  trystes  an'  fairs 
to  driddle,'  '  on  a  cummock  driddle.' 

Driegh,  tedious,  dull:  'stable-meals  .  .  . 
were  driegh,'  'the  moor  was  dreigh.' 

Droddum,  the  breech  : '  dress  your  droddum.' 

Drone,  part  of  the  bagpipe. 

Droop  -  runipl't,  short  -  rumped  .  '  droop- 
rumpl't  cattle.' 

Drouk,  to  wet,  to  drench :  '  to  drouk  the 
stourie  tow.' 

Droukit,  wetted,  soaked:  '  my  droukit  sark- 
sleeve.' 

Drouth,  thirst:  'Scotland's  drouth,'  'their 
hydra  drouth,'  '  holy  drouth.' 

Drouthy,  thirsty : '  drouthy  neebors,' '  drouthy 
cronie.' 

Druken,  drucken,  drunken. 

Drumlie,  (i)  muddy:  '  drumlie  German- 
water,'  '  the  drumlie  Dutch  ' ;  (2)  turbid  : 
'drumlie  wave,' '  waters  never  drumlie'; 

(3)  dull:  '' drumlie  winter.' 
L>ru}}nnock,  rs-w  meal   and   cold  water:  'a 

bellyfu'  o'  drummock.' 

Drunt,  the  huff:  '  took  the  drunt.' 

Dry,  thirsty :  '  confoundedly  dry,' '  a'  dry  wi' 
drinken  o't.' 

Dry,  dryly  :  '  answer  him  fu'  dry.' 

Dub,  puddle,  slush :  '  thro'  dub  and  mire,' 
'  thro'  dirt  and  dub.' 

Dub,  a  puddle  :  '  gumlie  dubs,'  '  the  burning 
dub.' 

Duddie,  ragged :  '  tho'  e'er  sae  duddie,' '  dud- 
die  weans,'  *  duddie  boy,'  '  duddie,  des- 
perate beggar.' 

Duddies,  dim.  of  duds,  rags:  '  coost  her 
duddies,'  'their  orra  duddies,'  'brats  o' 
duddies.' 

Duds,  rags,  clothes:  'wi'  reekit  duds,' 
'pawn'd  their  duds,'  fiaflfin  wi'  duds,' 
'  tartan  duds,' '  shook  his  duds.' 

E>ung,  V.  Dung. 

Duntrd,  throbbed:  '  wi'  life-blood  dunted.' 

Dunts,  blows. 

Durk,  dirk. 

Dushf,  touched  :    eerie  's  I  *d  been  dusht.' 

Dwalltng,  dwelling. 


396 


GLOSSARY. 


Dwalt,  dwelt. 

(3)  claim  :  '  guid  faith  he  mauna  fa'  that. 

Dyke,  (i)  a  fence  [of  stone  or  turf],  a  wall : 

Cf.  Alexander    Scott's    When   His   Wife 

•a  sheugh  or  dyke,' '  biggin  a  dyke,'  '  yont 

Left  Hifn :    '  For  fient  a  crumb  of  thee 

the  dyke,' '  your  lives  a  dyke,'  '  sun  our- 

she  fa's  '  [i.e.  claims]. 

sels  about  the  d3^ke,' '  about  the  dykes,' 

Faddom'd.  fathomed. 

'  owre  a  dyke,'  '  lap  o'er  the  dyke.' 

Fae,  foe. 

Dyke-back,  the  back  of  a  fence. 

Faem,  foam. 

Dyke-side,  side  of  a   fence:   'a   lee   dyke- 

Faiket,  let  off,  excused:  'sic  han's  as  you 

side.' 

sud  ne'er  be  faiket.* 

Dyvor,  a  bankrupt :  *  rot  the  dyvors,' '  dyvor, 

Fai7i,  fond,  glad.     V.  Fidgin-fain. 

beggar  loons.' 

Fainness,  fondness  :  '  wi'  fainness  grat.' 

Fair  fa  ,  good   befall !    welcome  1    '  fair  fa' 

Ear\  early. 

your  honest  sonsie  face,'  'fair  fa'  my  col- 

Eastlin, eastern. 

lier  laddie.'     Cf.  '  fair  fall  the  bones  that 

E'e,  eye. 

took  the  pains  for  me,'  Shak.  J^ing  John, 

E'ebrie,  eyebrow. 

i.  I.  78. 

Een,  eyes. 

Fairin,  a  present  from  a  fair :  '  he  gets  his 

E'eft,  even. 

fairin,"  '  thou  '11  get  thy  fairin.' 

E'en,  evening. 

Fallow,  fellow. 

E'enin,  evening. 

Fa''n,  fallen. 

E'er,  ever. 

Fand,  found. 

Eerie,  apprehensive,  inspiring  ghostly  fear 

Far-aff,  far-off. 

[many  examples  of  both  meanings]. 

Fa7-ls,  small,  thin   oat-cakes :  '  farls,  bak'd 

Eild,  eld. 

wi'  butter.' 

Eke,  also. 

Fash,   annoyance :    '  to  gie   ane   fash,'   '  or 

Elbuck,  elbow. 

fash  0'  fools.' 

Eldritch,  (i)  unearthly:  'eldritch   squeel,* 

Fash,  (i)  to  trouble:  'fash  your  thumb '  = 

'  eldritch     croon,'      '  an     eldritch,     stoor 

care   a  rap ;    '  I   never   fash  '  =  I   never 

"  quaick,  quaick,"  '  '  eldritch  laugh,'  '  el- 

trouble  about ;    '  fash   your  head ' ;    (2) 

dritch  skriech  ' ;    (2)   haunted  :    '  eldritch 

worry:  'fash  me  for  't,'  'fash  nae  mair.' 

tower  ' ;   (3)  fearsome  :  '  eldritch  part.' 

Fash' d,  fash' t,  (i)  bothered:  '  they 're  fash't 

Elekit,  elected. 

eneugh,'  'they  seldom  fash't   him';   (2) 

Ell  [Scots],  thirty-seven  inches. 

irked  :  '  fash'd  wi'  fleshly  lust.' 

Eller,  elder :  '  me  the  EUer's  dochter.' 

Fashions,  troublesome  :  '  fin'  them  fashions.' 

En  ,  end. 

Fasten-e'en,    Fasten's    Even    [the    evening 

Eneugh,  enough. 

before  Lent]. 

Enfauld,  infold. 

Faught,  a  fight. 

Enow,  enough. 

Fauld,  the  sheep-fold. 

Erse,  Gaelic  :  '  a  Lallan  tongue  or  Erse.' 

Fauld,    folded:    'within    his    mouth    w^as 

Ether-stane,  adder-stone :    *  and   make  his 

fauld.' 

ether-stane.' 

Faulding,  folding,  sheep-folding  :  '  a-fauld- 

Ettle,  aim  :  '  vi^i'  furious  ettle.' 

ing   let   us  gang,*  '  faulding  slap  '  =  fold 

Evermair,  evermore. 

gate  :  '  steeks  his  faulding  slap.' 

Ev'n  down,  downright,  positive  :  '  ev'n  down 

Faun,  fallen. 

want  0'  wark.' 

Fause,  false. 

Expeckit,  expected. 

Fause-house,  hole  in  a  cornstack  :  '  kiutlin  in 

Eydeni,  diligent :  '  wi'  an  eydent  hand.* 

the  fause-house,' '  the  fause-house  in  her 

Fa',  fall,  to  fall. 

mm  . 
Faut,  fault. 

Fa,  lot,  portion. 

Fautor,  transgressor :    '  syne,  say   I  was   a 

Fa',  (i)  to  have :  '  best  deserves  to  fa'  that ' ; 

fautor,'  '  tho'  he  be  the  fautor.' 

(2)  suit:   'weel  does  Selkirk  fa'  that'; 

Fawsont,   (i)    seemly,  well-doing :    '  honest 

GLOSSARY. 


397 


fawsont  folk  ' ;  (2)  good-looking :  *  aught- 
lins  fawsont.' 

Feat,  spruce. 

Fecht,  a  fight. 

Fecht,  to  fight 

Feck,  the  bulk,  the  most  part :  '  the  feck  of  a' 
the  Ten  Com  man's,' '  the  feck  o'  my  life,' 

Feck,  value,  return  :  '  for  little  feck.' 

Fecket,  (i)  sleeve-waistcoat  [used  by  farm- 
servants  as  both  vest  and  jacket]  :  'got 
me  by  the  fecket ' ;  (2)  waistcoat  [without 
sleeves]  :  '  his  fecket  is  white.' 

Feckless,  weak,  pithless,  feeble  :  '  as  feckless 
as  a  u  ither'd  rash,"  *  an  auld  wife's  tongue  's 
a  feckless  matter.' 

Feckly,  partly,  or  mostly :  *  carts  .  ,  .  are 
feckly  new.' 

Feg,  a  fig. 

Fegs,  faith  !  '  but  fegs !  the  Session.' 

Feide,  feud  :  '  wi'  deadly  feide.' 

Feint,  v.  Fient. 

Feirrie,  lusty :  '  the  feirrie  auld  wife.' 

Fell,  (i)  keen,  cruel,  dreadful,  deadly  [many 
examples  of  each  shade  of  meaning]  ;  (2) 
pungent :  '  her  weel-hain'd  kebbuck  fell.' 

Fell,  the  cuticle  under  the  skin  :  '  the  skin 
an'  fell.'  Cf.  '  fiesh  and  fell,'  Shak.  King- 
Lear,  V.  3.  24. 

Felly,  relentless  :  '  felly  spite.* 

Fe?i',  a  shift :  '  might  mak  a  fen'.' 

Fell ,  fend,  (i)  to  look  after,  to  care  for: 
'fend  themsel";  (2)  keep  off:  'fend  the 
show'rs ' ;  (3)  defend  :  '  fecht  and  fen '  = 
shift  for  themselves ;  *  how  do  ye  fen'  ?  '  = 
how  are  you  getting  on? 

Feiiceless,  defenceless. 

Ferlie,  ferly,  (i)  a  wonder  [implying  also 
disgubt]  :  '  ye  crowlin  ferlie  ' ;  (2)  '  nae 
ferlie[y]  '  =  no  wonder,  no  marvel. 

Ferlie,  to  marvel :  '  an'  ferlie  at  the  folk  in 
Lon'on.' 

Fetches,  catches,  gurgles:  'fetches  at  the 
thrapple.' 

Fetch' t,  stopped  suddenly :  '  braing't,  an' 
fetch 't,  an'  fliskit.' 

Fey,  fated  to  death  :  '  fey  men  died.' 

Fidge,  (i)  to  fidget,  to  wriggle  :  '  fidge  your 
back,'  '  fidge  an'  claw ' ;  (2)  '  fidge  fu' 
fain '  =  tingle  with  delight;  (3)  '  fidg'd  fu" 
fain  '  =  fidgeted  with  fondness." 

Fidgin-fain,  (i)  tingling  wild  :  '  fidgin-fain  to 
hear  't ' ;  (2)  tingling  with  fondness. 


Fiel,  well :  '  haps  me  fiel  and  warm.' 

Fient,  fiend,  a  petty  oath  (R.  B.). 

Fient  a,  not  a :  '  the  fient  a  '  =  nothing  of  a. 

Fient  /met,  nothing  [fiend  liave  it]. 

Fient  haet  o',  not  one  of. 

Fient-ma-care ,  the  fiend  may  care  [I  don't !]. 

Fier,fiere,  companion  :  '  my  trusty  fier[e].' 

Fier,  sound  :  '  hale  and  fier." 

Fin\  to  find. 

Fish- ere  el,  v.  Creel. 

Fissle,  tingle,  fidget  with  delight  [it  is  also 

used  of  the  agitation  caused  by  frying] : 

'  gar  me  fissle.' 
Fit,  foot. 
Fittie-lan',  the  near  horse  of  the  hindmost 

pair  in  the  plough :  *  a  noble  fittie-lan'.' 
Flae,  a  flea. 

Fhiffin,  flapping :  '  flaffin  wi'  duds.' 
Flait2in,Jiannen,  flannel. 
Flang,  flung. 
Flee,  to  fly. 
Fleech'd,  wheedled :  *  Duncan  fieech'd,  and 

Duncan  pray'd.' 
Fleechin,  wheedling:   'a   fleechin,  fleth'rin 

Dedication.' 
Fleesh,  fleece  :  '  a  bonier  fleesh  ne'er  cross'd 

the  clips.' 
Fleg,  (i)  either  a  scare  [as  the  word  is  used 

by  Ramsay],  or  a  blow:   'jirt  an'  fleg'; 

(2)  action,  movement:  '  uncouth  countra 

fleg.' 
Fleth'rin,  flattering  :  '  fleth'rin  dedication.' 
Flewit,  a  sharp  lash  :  '  a  hearty  flewit.' 
Fley,  to  scare  :  *  Want  and  Hunger  fley  me.' 
Fley'd,  scared  :  '  fley'd  an'  eerie,' '  but  be  na 

fley'd,'  'fley'd  awa.' 
Flichterin,   fluttering :    as   young  nestlings 

when    their    dam    approaches    (R.   B.)  ; 

'flichterin  noise  and  glee.' 
Flinders,  shreds,  broken  pieces  (R.  B.). 
Flinging,  kicking  out  in  dancing,  capering : 

'  louping  and  flinging  on  a  crummock.' 
Flingin-tree,  a  piece  of  timber  hung  by  way 

of   partition    between    two    horses   in   a 

stable,  a  flail    (R.   B.) :    '  the  thresher's 

weary  flingin-tree.' 
Fliskit,  fretted,  capered  :  '  fetch't  an'  fliskit.' 
Fht,  to  shift. 
Flittering,  fluttering. 
Flyte,  scold :  *  e'en  let  her  fiyte  her  fill.' 
Fock,focks,  folk. 
Fodgel,  dumpy ;  '  a  fine,  fat,  fodgel  wight.' 


398 


GLOSSARY. 


Foor^  fared  \i.e.  went]  :  '  o'er  the  moor  they 

lightly  foor.' 
Foorsday,  Thursday. 
Forbears,  forebears,  forefathers. 
Forby,  forbye,  besides. 
Fo7'fairn,  (i)  worn  out:  '  wi'  crazy  eild  I  'm 

sair  forfairn  ' ;  (2)  forlorn  :  '  Fenwick,  sair 

forfairn.' 
Forfoiighten,   exhausted    [i.e.  by  labour  or 

conflict]  :  'the'  forfoughten,  sair  eneugh.' 
Forgather,  to  meet  with,  to  fall  in  with. 
Forgie,  to  forgive. 
Forjesket,  jaded  with  fatigue  (R.  B.)  :  '  for- 

jesket  sair,  with  weary  legs.' 
Forrii,  forward. 
Fother,  fodder. 
Fou,  foio,  full   [i.e.  drunk] . 
Foughten,  troubled  [i.e.  by  conflict  with  dif- 
ficulties] :    '  sae    foughten    an'   harass'd.' 

See  Forfoughten. 
Foursome,  a  quartette  :  '  foursome  reels.' 
Fouth,  fulness,  abundance :   '  fouth  o'  auld 

nick-nackets.' 
Fow,  V.  Fou. 
Few,  a  bushel. 
Frae,  from. 
Freath,  to  froth. 
Fremit,  estranged,  hostile :  '  is  now  a  fremit 

knight.' 
Fu' ,  full.     V.  also  Foti. 
Fu'-han'f,  full-handed  [having  abundance]  : 

'  ay  fu'-han't  is  fechtin  best.' 
Fud,  a   short   tail    [of  a   rabbit  or   hare] : 

'  cock  your  fud  fu'  braw,' '  to  coor  their 

fuds.' 
Fuff't,  puffed :  '  she  fuff 't  her  pipe  wi'  sic  a 

lunt.' 
Fur,furr,  a  furrow. 
Fur-akin,  the  hindmost  plough-horse  in  the 

furrow :  '  my  fur-ahin's  a  wordy  beast.' 
Furder,  success. 
Furder,  to  succeed. 
Farm,  a  wooden  form. 
Fusionless,  pithless,  sapless,  tasteless:   'he 

is  but  a  fusionless  carlie.' 
Fyke,  fret :  '  as  bees  bizz  out  wi'  angry  fyke.* 
Fyke,  (i)  to  fuss:    'fyke  an'  fumble';    (2) 

to   fidget  [i.e.  from  annoyance  or  pain]  : 

'  until  ye  fyke.' 
Fyle,  to  defile,  to  foul :  '  her  face  wad  fyle  the 

Logan  Water.' 
Fyled,  soiled :  '  that  fyl'd  his  shins.' 


Gab,  the  mouth,  the  jaw  :  'his  gab  did  gape,' 
'  steek  your  gab  for  ever,'  '  she  held  up  hei 
greedy  gab,'  '  his  teethless  gab,'  '  set  a' 
their  gabs  a-steerin.' 

Gab,  to  talk,  to  speak :  '  gab  like  Boswell.' 

Gabs,  talk :  '  some  wi'  gabs/ 

Gae,  gave. 

Gae,  to  go. 

Gaed,  went. 

Gaen,  gone. 

Gaets,  ways,  manners :  '  learn  the  gaets." 

Gairs,  slashes:  'my  lady's  gown,  there's 
gairs  upon  't.' 

Gane,  gone. 

Gang,  to  go. 

Gangrel,  vagrant:  'o'  randie,  gangrel 
bodies.* 

Gar,  to  cause,  to  make,  to  compel. 

Gar't,  made,  compelled. 

Garten,  garter. 

Garten  d,  gartered. 

Gash,  (i)  wise:  'a  gash  an' faithfu' tyke ' ; 

(2)  self-complacent   [implying  prudence 
and   prosperity] :    '  here   farmers   gash  ' ; 

(3)  talkative    and    self-complacent :     '  a 
gawsie,  gash  guidwife.' 

Gashing,   talking,    gabbing:     'gashing    at 

their  cracks.' 
Gat,  got. 

Gate,  way,  road,  manner. 
Gaft)',  enervated :  '  auld  an*  gatty.* 
Gaucie,  v,  Gawsie. 
Gaud,  a  goad. 

Gaudsman,  goadsman,  driver  of  the  plough- 
team  :     '  a    gaudsman    ane,    a    thrasher 

t'  other.' 
Gau'n,  Gavin. 
Gaun,  going. 
Gaunted,  gaped,  yawned :  •  I've  grain'd  and 

gaunted.' 
Gawky,  a  foolish  woman  or  lad  [the  female 

of  gowk,  q.v.l :  '  gawkies,  tawpies,  gowks, 

and  fools." 
Gawky,  cuckooing,  foolish  ;  '  the  senseless, 

gawky  million.'    Cf.  A  Dream,  stanza  ii. 

lines  3-4 :  — 

'  God  save  the  King's  a  cuckoo  song. 
That 's  unco  easy  said  ay.' 
Gawsie,  (i)  buxom  :  '  her  strappin  limb  an* 

gawsie  middle';    (2)  buxom  and  jolly: 

'  a  gawsie,  gash  guidwife ' ;   (3)  big  and 

joyous :  'his  gawsie  tail.' 


GLOSSARY. 


399 


Gaylies,  gaily:  'but  they  do  gaylies.' 
Gear,   (i)   money,  wealth ;    (2)   goods;    (3) 

sturt":  '  taste  sic  gear  as  Johiiic  brews.' 
Geek,  (i)  to  sport:  'may  Freedom  geek'; 

(2)  to   toss  the   head:    'ye  geek  at  me 

because  I  'm  poor.' 
Gd'o',  a  pike  :  'and  geds  for  greed,' '  Johnie 

Ged's  Hole  '  =  the  grave. 
Gentles,  gentry. 
Genty,  trim  and  elegant:  'genty  waist,'  *her 

genty  limbs.* 
Genty,  trimly:  '  sae  genty  sma'.' 
Gear  die,  dim.  of  George,  a  guinea. 
Get,   issue,   offspring,   breed :    '  nae  get   o' 

moorlan  tips,' '  a  true,  guid  fallow's  get.' 
Ghaist,  ghost. 
Gie,  to  give. 
Gied,  gave. 
Gien,  given. 
Gif,  if. 

Gi/tie,  dim.  oi  gift. 
Giglets,  giggling  youngsters  or  maids:  'the 

giglets  keckle.*     Cf.  '  a  giglet  wench  '  =  a 

light  woman,  Shak.  i  Henry  VL,  iv,  7.  41. 
Gillie,  dim.  of  gill  [glass  of  whisky.] 
Gilpey,  young  girl :  '  I  was  a  gilpey  then.' 
Gimmer,  a  young  ewe. 
Gin,  (i)  if,  should,  whether;   (2)  by:  'their 

hearts  o'  stane,  gin  nicht,  are  gane.' 
Girdle,  plate  of  metal  for  firing  cakes,  ban- 
nocks, etc. :  '  the  vera  girdle  rang.' 
Girn,  (i)  to  grin,  to  twist  the  face  [but  from 

pain  or  rage,  not  joy] :    '  it  makes  good 

fellows  girn  an'  gape  ' ;   (2)  gapes  :  '  that 

girns    for    the   fishes   and    loaves';     (3) 

snarls:  'girns  and  looks  back.' 
Girnin,  grinning,  snarling  [see  under  Girtt] : 

'  wi'  girnin  spite,'  '  thy  girnin  laugh,' '  every 

sour-mou'd  girnin  blellum.' 
Lrizz,    wig:    'an'   reestit    gizz."      See    also 

Jiz. 
Glaikit,  foolish,  thoughtless,  giddy:  '  glaikit 

Folly's  portals,'   '  I  'm   red  ye  're  glaikit,' 

•ye    glaikit,    gleesome,    dainty    damies,' 

'glaikit   Charlie.* 
Glaizie,  glossy,  shiny  :  '  sleek  an'  glaizie.' 
G/a«w'rf,  grasped  [Coll.  a '  glaum '  or '  glam  ' 

=  a '  g^ab ']  :  *  glaum'd  at  kingdoms  three, 

man." 
Gled,  a  hawk,  a  kite  [Anglo-Sax.  'Gleida' 

=  the  glider] :  '  a  bizzard  gled,'  '  or  I  had 

fed  an  Athole  gled.' 


Gleede,  a  glowing  coal,  a  blaze  [Anglo-Sax. 
'Gled';  cf.  'the  cruel  ire  reed  [red]  as 
any  gleede,'  Chaucer,  Knight's  Jale, 
Canterbury  Tales,  1997]  :  '  cheery  blinks 
the  ingle-gleede.' 

Gleg,  (i)  nimble:  'gleg  as  oniewumble'; 
(2)  sharp,  quick,  keen :  '  Death's  gleg 
gullie,'  'as  gleg 's  a  whittle';  (3)  keen- 
witted :  '  he  's  gleg  enough,'  '  wee  Davoc  's 
grown  sae  gleg,'  '  gleg  as  light  are  lover's 
een.' 

Gleg,  smartly :  '  he  '11  shape  you  aff  fu' 
gleg.' 

Gleib,  a  portion  :  '  a  gleib  o'  Ian'.' 

Glib-gabbet,  smooth-tongued. 

Glinted,  sparkled:  'thou  glinted  forth,' 
'  glinted  by.' 

Glintin :  '  wi'  glorious  light  was  glintin.' 
V.  Glinted. 

Gloamin,  (i)  gloaming,  twilight,  dusk 
[gleaming  of  light  after  the  sun  has  set] : 
'  an'  darker  gloamin  brought  the  night,' 
'when  ance  life's  day  draws  near  the 
gloamin,'  'the  hour  o'  gloamin  grey,' 
'beside  me  gin  the  gloamin,'  '  now  it  was 
the  gloamin';  (2)  '  gloamin-shot '  =  sun- 
set. 

Glow'r,  a  stare. 

Glow'r,  to  stare. 

Glowrin,  staring. 

Glunch,  a  frown,  a  growl :  '  twists  his  gruntle 
wi'  a  glunch.' 

Glunch,  to  frown,  to  growl. 

Goavin,  (i)  looking  dazedly:  'goavin's 
he'd  been  led  wi'  branks';  (2)  moonmg: 
'  idly  goavin,  whyles  we  saunter.' 

Gorcock,  the  moorcock :  '  the  gorcock 
springs  on  whirring  wings,'  'where 
gorcocks   thro'  the    heather  pass.' 

Gotten,  got. 

Gowan,  the  wild  or  mountain  daisy. 

Gowany,  covered  with  wild  daisies. 

Gowd,  gold. 

Gowdie,  the  head:  'heels  o'er  gowdie'  = 
topsy-turvy. 

Gowff'd,  struck  as  in  the  game  of  golf: 
'gowff'd  Willie  like  a  ba',  man.' 

Gowk,  the  cuckoo,  a  dolt :  '  conceited  gowk,' 
'Andro'  Gowk,'  'gowks  and  fools.' 

Goivling,  lamenting  [as  a  dog  in  grief]  : 
'  Misfortunes  gowling  bark.' 

Graff,  (i)  a  grave:   *  cauld  in  his  gizS] 


400 


GLOSSARY. 


'your  green  graff';  (2)  a  vault:  'your 
marble  graffs.' 

Grain' d^  groaned. 

Graip,  a  dung-fork. 

Graith,  (i)  implements,  gear:  'ploughmen 
gather  wi'  their  graith ' ;  (2)  instruments  : 
*  her  spinnin-graith ' ;  (3)  furniture  of 
all  kinds  :  '  a'  my  graith ' ;  (4)  attire,  garb  : 
'  farmers  gash  in  ridin  graith,'  '  in  shootin 
graith  adorned,' '  in  heav'nly  graith.' 

Graithing,  gearing,  vestments :  '  Episcopal 
graithing.' 

Gra?ie,  a  groan. 

Grane,  to  groan. 

Grannie^  Grannie,  grandmother. 

Grape,  grope. 

Graped,  grapet,  grope  do 

Grat,  wept. 

Graunie,  v.  Grannie, 

Gree,  (i)  the  prize  [degree],  'bear'st  the 
gree '  =  tak'st  the  prize ;  '  carry  the  gree  ' 
=  bear  the  bell ;  '  bear  the  gree  '  =  have 
the  first  place ;  '  bure  the  gree  '  =  bore  off 
the  prize  \i.e.  won  the  victory]  ;  '  wan  the 
gree '  =  gained  the  prize. 

Gree,  to  agree. 

Greet,  agreed. 

Greet,  to  weep. 

Greetin,  weeping. 

Groanin  maztt,  groaning  malt. 

Grozet,  a  gooseberry :  '  plump  an*  grey  as 
onie  grozet.' 

Grtimphie,  the  pig :  '  wha  was  it  but  grum- 
phie.' 

Gru7i\  the  ground. 

Grimfle,  the  face,  the  phiz:  'twists  his 
gruntle.' 

Gr untie,  dim.  of  grunt:  'a  grane  an' 
gruntle.' 

Grunzie,  the  snout :  '  she  dights  her  grunzie 
wi'  a  hushion.' 

Grushie,  growing :  '  grushie  weans  an'  faith- 
fu'  wives.' 

Griitten,  wept. 

Glide,  God. 

Guid  [also  Gude\,  good. 

Guid-een,  [also  Gudeen\,  good  evening. 

Guid-father,  father-in-law. 

Guid-man  [also  Gude-mmt],  the  husband. 

Guid-wife  [also  Giide-zoife'\,  the  mistress  of 
the  house,  the  landlady. 

Guid- Willie    [also     Gude- Willie'],    hearty. 


full  of  good-will :    '  a    right    guid-willie 

waught.* 
Gullie,  gully,  a  large  knife :  '  see,  there's  a 

gully,'   '  Death's   gleg   gulHe,'  '  lang-kail 

gullie.' 
Gtimlie,  muddy :  '  gumlie  dubs  of  your  ain 

delvin,'  '  gumlie  jaups  up  to  the  pouring 

skies.' 
Gumption,  wisdom,  skill  [sometimes  of  the 

nostrum  variety]  :  *  her  cracks  wi'  a'  their 

gumption." 
Gusty,  tasty :  '  an'  gusty  sucker.' 
Gutcher,  goodsire,  grandfather :  'Byeattour, 

my  gutcher  has.' 

Ha\  hall. 

Ha' folk,  the  servants :  '  the  ha'  folk  fill  their 

pechan.' 
Haddin,  holding,  inheritance:  '  Hell  for  his 

haddin.' 
Hae,  have. 

Haet,  V.  Devil-haet,  and  Fient-haet. 
Haffet,  hauffet,  the  temple,  the  side  of  the 

head :    '  in  some   beggar's   hauffet,'  '  her 

haffet  locks  as  brown  's  a  berry.' 
Haffets,  side-locks :   '  his  lyart  haffets.' 
Hafflins,  half,  partly :  '  hafifiins  is  afraid  to 

speak,' '  like  hafflins-wise  o'ercomes  him 

=  nearly  half  overcomes  him. 
Hag,  a  moss,  a  broken  bog :  '  owre  monie  a 

weary  hag,' '  sendin  the  stuff  o'er  muirs 

an'  haggs.' 
Haggis,  a  special  Scots  pudding,  made  ot 

sheep's    entrails,    onions,    and     oatmeal 

boiled  in  a  sheep's  stomach  [the  piece  de 

resistance  at  Burns  Club  dinners,  and  an 

esteemed  antidote  to  whisky], 
Hain,  to  spare,  to  save. 
Hairst,  har'st,  harvest. 
Haith,  faith  [an  oath], 
Haivers,  v.  Havers, 
Hal',  hald,  holding,  possession :  *  house  an' 

har[d] '  =  house  and  possession. 
Hale,  hail,  the  whole. 
Hale,  hail,  whole,  healthy. 
Halesome,  wholesome. 
Half,  half. 
Hallan,  a  partition  wall,  a  porch :  '  yont  the 

hallan,'  '  ne'er  at  your  hallan  ca','  '  glowrin 

by  the  hallan  en','  '  joukbehint  the  hallan,' 

'to  his  ain  hallan  door.' 
Halloweefi,  All  Saints'  Eve  (31st  October) 


GLOSSARY. 


401 


Hallowmas,  All  Saints'  Day  (ist  November). 

Haly,  holy. 

Hame,  home. 

Han'  haiin,  hand. 

Haii-darg  [or  daurJS\.     See  Darg. 

Haiid-wald,   hand-picked    \i.e.   choicest] : 

'  my  hand-wal'd  curse.' 
Ilaiigie,  hangman  [nickname  of  the  Devil]: 

'  hoar  me,  Auld  Hangie,  for  a  wee.' 
Hansel,  the   first  gift :  '  blew  hansel   in  on 

Robin.' 
//(//,  a  wrap,  a  covering  against  cold :  '  mair 

vauntie  o'  my  hap,"  '  the  stacks  get  on  their 

winter  hap.' 
Hap,\o  shelter:  'hap  him  in  a  cozie  biel,' 

'  and  haps  me  fiel.' 
Hap,  to  hop :  *  while  tears  hap  o'er  her  auld 

brown  nose.' 
Happer,  hopper  [of  a  mill]. 
Plapping,  hopping  [as  a  bird]. 
Hap-step-an'-lo'cip,   hop-step-and-jump    [an 

important  item  in  Scots  athletic  gatherings 

but  here  used,  of  course,  metaphorically]. 
Harkit,  hearkened :    '  to   guid   advice   but 

harkit.' 
Barn,  coarse  cloth  [cloth  spun  of  '  hards,' 

i.e.  coarse  flax]  :  '  her  cutty  sark,  o'  Pais- 
ley harn.' 
Harst,  V.  Hairst. 
Hash,  (i)  an   oaf:   '  doylt,  drucken  hash'; 

(2)  a  dunderhead:  'conceited  hashes.' 
Haslock  woo,   the   wool   on   the   neck  \_i.e. 

throat]  of  a  sheep. 
Hand,  to  hold,  to  keep. 
Haiif,  half. 
Haiighs,  low-lying  rich   lands,  valleys  (R. 

B.)  :  '  let  husky  wheat  the  haughs  adorn," 

'  haughs  an'  woods,'  '  holms  and  haughs.' 
Haun,  V.  Han  . 
Haurl,  to  trail:  'and  haurls  at  his  curpin  ' 

'  till  skin  in  biypes  cam  haurlin,'  '  haurl 

thee  hame  to  his  black  smiddie.' 
Haiise,  cuddle  :  '  hause  in  ither's  arms.' 
flavercl,  havrel,  one  who  talks  nonsense,  a 

half-witted  person :    '  poor  hav'rcl  Will,' 

'  hav'rel  Jean.' 
Havers,  nonsense. 
Havins,  manners,  conduct :  '  pit  some  havins 

in  his  breast,'  '  havins,  sense,  an'  grace,' 

'  to  havins  and  sense.' 
Hawkie,  a  white-faced  cow,  a  cow. 
Heal^  v.  Hale. 
2D 


Healsoine,  v.  Halesome. 

Hecht,   (i)   to  promise:    'they  hecht  him 

some  fine  braw  ane,'  'hecht  them  courtly 

gifts,'  '  hecht   an    honest   heart ' ;    (2)   to 

menace:  '  some  mortal  heart  is  hechtin.' 
Heckle,  a  flax-comb. 
Heels-o' er-gowdie.     See  Gowdie. 
Heeze,  to  hoist :  '  higher  may  they  hoeze  ye,* 

'  heeze  thee  up  a  constellation.* 
Heich,  heigh,  high. 
Helicon,  a  mountam  in  Greece. 
Hem-shin  d,  crooked  shin'd. 
Here  awa,  here  about, 
Herry,  to  harry. 
Hertyment,  spoliation  :  '  the  herryment  and 

ruin  of  the  country.' 
Hersel,  herself, 
Het,  hot. 
Heugh,  (i)  a  hollow  or  pit:   'yon   lowin 

heugh  ' ;   (2)  a  crag,  a  steep  bank :   '  the 

water  rins  owre  the  heugh.* 
Hei/k,  a  hook,  a  reaping  hook. 
Hilch,  to   hobble,  to   halt :    '  hilchin   Jean 

M'Craw,'  '  hilch,  an'  stilt,  an"  jimp.* 
Hillock,  dim.  oi  hill,  a  mound. 
Hiltie-skiltie,  helter-skelter. 
Himsel,  himself. 
Hiney,  hinny,  honey. 
Hing,  to  hangc 
Hirple,  to  move  unevenly,  to  hop,  to  limp: 

'  the  hares  were  hirpiin  down  the  furs,' 

'hirplin  owre  the  field,'  'he  hirpl'd  up, 

an'  lap  like  daft,'  '  November  hirples  o'er 

the  lea,' '  he  hirples  twa-fauld  as  he  dow,' 

'  he  hoasts  and  he  hirples.' 
Hissels,  so  many  cattle  as  one  person  can 

attend    (R.  B.)  :    'the   herds   an'   hissel? 

were  alarm'd.' 
Histie,  bare  :  '  histie  stibble-field.' 
Hizzie,  a  hussy,  a  wench. 
Hoast,  a  cough  :  '  an'  barkin  hoast,'  ■  hoast- 

provoking  smeek.' 
Hoast,  to  cough :  '  hoast  up  some  palaver,' 

'  he  honsts  and  he  hirples.' 
Hoddin,  the  motion  of  a  sage  countryman 

riding  on  a  cart   horse  (R.  B.)  :   '  gaed 

hoddin  by  their  cotters.' 
Hoddin-grey,    clownish-grey,    coarse    grey 

woollen  [and  retaining  the  natural  color 

of  the  wool]  :   '  wear  hoddin  grey,  an'  a' 

that.' 
Hoggie,  dim.  of  hog,  a  lamb :  •  My  Hoggie.' 


402 


GLOSSARY. 


Hog-score,  a  term  in  curling:  '  Death's  hog- 
score.' 
Hog-shouther,  a  kind  of  liorse-play  by  jus- 

tling  with  the  shoulder,  to  justle  (R.  B.). 
Hoodie-craw,  the  hooded  crow,  the  carrion- 
crow. 
Hoodock,  grasping,  vulturish :    '  the   harpy, 

hoodock,  purse-proud  race.' 
Hooked,  caught :  '  monie  a  pursie  she  had 

hooked.' 
Hool,   the   outer   case,   the   sheath:    'poor 

Leezie's  heart  maist  lap  the  hool.' 
Hoolie,  softly :  '  something  cries  "  Hoolie."  ' 
Hoard,  hoard. 
Hoordet,  hoarded. 
Hortt,  (i)   a  horn  spoon :    '  horn  for  horn 

they  stretch  an'    strive ' ;    (2)    a  toothed 

comb  of  horn :    '  whare  horn  nor  bane 

ne'er  daur  unsettle." 
Hornie,  the  Devil. 
Host,  V.  Hoast. 
HotcJid,  jerked  [the  action  of  a  bagpiper's 

arm]  :  '  hotch'd  and  blew  wi'  might  and 

main.' 
Houghmagandie,  fornication  (R.  B.). 
Houlet,  V.  Howlet. 
Houpe,  hope. 
Howdie,  howdy,  a   midwife:    'nae   howdie 

gets  a  social  night,'  '  afore  the  howdy.' 
Hoive,  a  hollow,  a  dell. 
Howe,  hollow. 
Howk,  (i)  to  dig:  'mice  and  moudieworts 

they  howkit,'    '  howkin    in    a    sheugh ' ; 

(2)  '  howkit  dead  *  =  disburied  dead. 
Howlet,  the  owl. 
Hoyse,  a  hoist :  '  they  '11  gie  her  on  the  rape 

a  hoyse.' 
Hoyt,  urged  (R.  B.)  :  'they  hoy't  out  Will, 

wi'  sair  advice.' 
Hoyte,  to  amble  crazily  (R.  B.)  ;  '  Now  ye 

dow  but  hoyte  and  hobble.' 
Hughoc,  dim.  of  Hugh. 
HulUons,  slovens :  '  tirl  the  hullions  to  the 

birses.' 
Hu7ider,  a  hundred. 

Hiaikers,  hams :  '  upon  his  hunkers  bended.' 
Hurcheofi,  the   hedgehog :    '  o'er   hurcheon 

hides.' 
Hiirchln,  urchin. 
Hurdles,  the  loins,  the  crupper  (R.  B.)  \i.e. 

the  buttocks]  :  '  hung  owre  his  hurdles  wi' 

a  swirl,'  '  row't  his  hurdles  in  a  hammock,' 


'  meekly  gie  your  hurdies  to  the  smiters, 
'  your  hurdies  like  a  distant  hill,'  '  I  wad 
hae  gi'en   them   off   my  hurdies,'  '  their 
ample  hurdles.' 
Hurl,  to  trundle  :  '  or  hurl  in  a  cartie.' 
Hushion,  a   footless  stocking :    '  she  dights 

her  grunzie  wi'  a  hushion.' 
Hyte,  furious. 

/',  in. 

Icker,  an  ear  of  com  :  '  a  daimen  icker  in  a 
thrave.' 

ler-oe,  a  great-grandchild:  'wee  curlie 
John's  ier-oe.' 

Ilk,  ilka,  each,  every. 

///  0  V,  bad  at  it :  '  wretched  ill  o  't.' 

Ill-faeti,  ill-taken. 

Ill-Thief,  the  Devil:  'the  Ill-Thief  blaw  the 
Heron  south.' 

Ill-willie,  ill-natured,  malicious,  niggardly 
(R.  B.)  :  '  your  native  soil  was  right  ill- 
willie.' 

Indetititi,  indenturing :  '  his  saul  indentin.' 

Ingine,  (i)  genius,  ingenuity  (R.  B.)  :  '  he 
had  ingine  ' ;    (2)  wit :  '  wi'  right  ingine.' 

Ingle,  the  fire,  the  fireside  [very  frequent]. 

Ingle-cheek,  fireside  [properly  the/aw^  of  the 
fireplace]  :  '  lanely  by  the  ingle-cheek.' 

Ingle-gleede,  v.  Gleede. 

Ingle-lowe,  ingle  low,  the  flame  or  light  of 
the  fire  :  '  by  my  ingle-lowe  I  saw,'  '  beyont 
the  ingle  low '  =  at  the  back  of  the  fire- 
place. 

/  'se,  I  shall,  or  will. 

Ither,  other,  another. 

Itsel,  itself. 

yad,  a  jade. 

Janwar,  January. 

Jauk,  (i)  to  trifle,  to  dally :  '  she  made  nae 

jaukin,'  '  to  jauk  and  play.' 
Jauner,  gabber :    '  baud  your  tongue  and 

jauncr.' 
Jauntie,    dim.   of  jaunt :    '  your    wee    bit 

jauntie.' 
yaup,  to  splash  :  '  that  jaups  in  luggies.' 
Jaups,  splashes:  'gumlie  jaups  up  to  the 

pouring  skies.' 
Jaw,  talk,  impudence  :  '  deil-ma-care  about 

their  jaw.' 
Jaw,  to  throw,  to  dash  :  '  and  in  the  sea  did 

jaw,  man.' 


GLOSSARY. 


40i 


Jeeg,  to  jog :  '  and  jeeg  the  cradle  wi'  my 
tac." 

Jilh't,  a  jilt:  'a  jillct  brak  his  heart  at 
last.' 

Jimp,  small,  slender:  '  thy  waist  sae  jimp." 

Jiniply,  nealiy:  'sae  jimply  lac'd.' 

yimps,  stays  :  '  but  Jenny's  jimps.' 

yink,  the  slip :  '  our  billie  's  gien  us  a'  a  jink." 

yink,  (i)  to  frisk:  'thro'  vvimplin  worms 
thou  jink';  (2)  to  sport:  'and  jinkin 
hares,  in  amorous  whids';  (3)  'jink  an' 
diddle  '=  dance  and  shake ;  (4)  to  dodge : 
'he'll  turn  a  corner  jinkin,'  '  Rab  slips 
out,  an' jinks  about,'  'jink  there  or  here'; 
(5)  '  the  swallow  jinkin  '  =  the  swallow 
darting;  (6)  move  out  and  in:  'and 
drawers  jink.' 

y inker,  (i)  '  a  jinker  noble  '  =  a  noble  goer  ; 
(2)  dodger,  gamester  [/.f.  coquette]. 

yirkinet,  bodice:  'Jenny's  iimps  and  jirki- 
net.' 

yirt,  a  jerk  :  '  monie  a  jirt  and  fleg.' 

yiz,  a  wig. 

yo,  a  sweetheart :  '  John  Anderson,  My  Jo.' 

yocteleg,  a  clasp-knife. 

youk,  to  duck,  to  cower,  to  dodge :  '  jouk 
beneath  Misfortune's  blows,'  'to  Nobles 
jouk,'  'jouk  behint  the  hallan.' 

yoiv,  to  j'ow,  a  verb  which  includes  both  the 
swinging  motion  and  pealing  sound  of  a 
large  bell  (R.  B.)  :  '  to  jow  an'  croon.' 

yumpet,jumpit,  jumped. 

yundie,  to  justle  (R.  B.). 

yurr,  a  servant  wench  :  '  Geordie's  jurr.' 

Kae,  a  jackdaw  :  '  thievish  kaes,' 

Kail,  kale,    (i)  the  colewort  [also  cabbage, 

but  see  Bozu-kail'\ ;    (2)  Scots  broth. 
Kail-blade,  the  leaf  of  the  colewort. 
Kail-gullie,  a  cabbage-knife.     V.  Gullie. 
Kail-runt,  the  stem  of  the  colewort. 
Kail-whittle ,  a  cabbage-knife. 
Kail-yard,  a  kitchen  garden. 
Kain,  kane,  rents  in  kind  :  '  his  kain,  an'  a' 

his  stents,'  'to  Death  she's  dearly  pay'd 

the  kain.* 
Kaine,  a  comb :  '  clawed  her  wi'  the  ripplin- 

kame.' 
Kebars,  rafters  :  '  he  ended;  and  the  kebars 

sheuk.' 
Kebbuck,  a  cheese:  'syne  draws  her  keb- 

buck    an'    her    knife,'    '  her  weel-hain'd 


kebbuck,  fell,*  '  a  kebbuck-heel '  =  the 
last  crust  of  a  cheese. 

Keckle,  to  cackle,  to  giggle  loudly  [as a  girl]: 
'  the  gigiets  keckle.' 

Keck,  (i)  a  look,  a  glance:  *  he  by  his 
shouther  gae  a  keek';  (2)  a  stolen 
glance  :  'at  ev'ry  kindling  keek.' 

Keek,  (i)  to  look,  to  peep,  to  glance:  'now 
the  sinn  keeks  in  the  wast,'  '  I  cannily 
keekit  ben,'  'the  gossip  keekit  in  his 
loof  ';  (2)  to  pry:  'but  keek  thro'  ev'ry 
other  man.' 

Keekin-glass,  the  looking-glass. 

Keel,  v.  Cauk. 

Keep  it,  kept. 

Kelpies,  river-demons  [usually  shaped  as 
horses]  :  '  water-kelpies  haunt  the  foord,* 
'  fays,  spunkies,  kelpies.' 

Ken,  to  know. 

Kend,  kent,  known. 

Kenna,  know  not. 

Kennin,  a  very  little  [merely  as  much  as  can 
be  perceived]  :  '  a  kennin  wrang.' 

Kent,  v.  Kend. 

Kep,  to  catch  [a  thing  thrown  or  falling]  : 
'  shall  kep  a  tear.' 

Ket,  the  fleece  on  a  sheep's  body  :  '  tawted 
ket,  an'  hairy  hips.' 

Key,  quay. 

Key-stane,  key-stone. 

A7a//^/z,  cark :  '  his  weary  kiaugh  and  care 
beguile.' 

Kilt,  to  tuck  up  :  '  her  tartan  petticoat  she  '11 
kilt,'  '  she  kiltit  up  her  kirtle  weel.' 

Kimmer,  (i)  a  wench,  a  gossip:  'despite 
the  kittle  kimmer'  [Dame  Fortune]  :  'ye 
weel  ken,  kimmers  a','  '  loosome  kim- 
mers  '  =  lovable  girls,  '  guid  e'en  to  you, 
kimmer  ' ;  (2)  a  wife  or  bed-fellow  :  '  the 
kimmers  o'  Largo,'  '  I  cuddle  my  kina- 
mer.' 

Kin\  kind. 

King's-hood,  the  second  stomach  in  a  rumi- 
nant [equivocal  for  the  scrotum] :  '  Deil 
mak  his  king's-hood  in  a  spleuchan.' 

Kintra,  country. 

Kirk,  church. 

Kirn,  a  churn  :  '  plunge  an'  plunge  the  kirn 
in  vain,' 

Kirn,  harvest-home :  '  the  jovial,  ranting 
kirns,'  '  an'  ay  a  rantin  kirn  we  gat,'  *  at 
kirns  an'  weddins  we  'se  be  there.' 


404 


GLOSSARY. 


Kirsen,  to  christen :    '  and   kirsen  him  wi' 

reekin  water.' 
Kist,  (i)  a  chest ;  (2)  a  counter  [humorous]  : 

'  behint  a  kist  to  lie  an'  sklent.' 
Kitchen,  to  relish  [to  add  relish  to] :  '  thou 

kitchens  fine.' 
Kittle,  (i)  difficult :  '  kittle  to  be  misleared  ' ; 

(2)  ticklish  :    '  are   a  shot   right   kittle  ' ; 

(3)  delicate :  '  to  paint  an  angel 's  kittle 
wark  ' ;  (4)  fickle  :  '  despite  the  kittle 
kimmer,' 

Kittle,  to  tickle:  'to  kittle  up  our  notion,' 

'  kittle  up  your  moorland  harp,'  '  I  kittle 

up  my  rustic  reed,'  '  while  I  kittle  hair  on 

thairms.' 
Kittlin,  a  kitten  :  '  as  cantie  as  a  kittlin.' 
Kiutlin,    cuddling :    '  kiutlin   in   the  fause- 

house.' 
Knaggie,  knobby  :  '  tho'  thou  's  howe-backit 

now,  an'  knaggie.' 
Kiappin-hammers ,  hammers   for  breaking 

stones  [from  knap,  to  strike]. 
Knowe,  a  knoll,  a  hillock. 
Kye,  cows,  kine. 
Kyles,  V.  Nine-pin  kyles. 
Kytes,  bellies  :  '  weel-swalled  kytes.' 
Kythe,  to  show :  '  fu'  sweetly  kythe  hearts 

leal.' 

Laddie,  dim.  oi  lad. 

Lade,  a  load. 

Lag,  backward :  '  thou 's  neither  lag  nor 
lame.' 

Laggen,  the  bottom  of  a  wooden  dish  ;  '  the 
laggen  they  hae  clautet.* 

Laigh,  low. 

Lair,  lore,  learning. 

Laird,  landowner  [the  lord  of  houses  or 
lands]. 

Lairing,  sticking  or  sinking  in  moss  or 
mud  :  '  deep-lairing,  sprattle.' 

Laith,  loath. 

Laithfu  ,  loathful,  sheepish  :  '  but  blate  and 
laithfu',  scarce  can  weel  behave.' 

Lallan,  Lalland,  lowland  :  '  wad  ding  a  Lal- 
lan tongue,  or  Erse,'  '  the  lalland  laws  he 
held  in  scorn,'  'a  lalland  face  he  feared 
none.' 

Lallajis,  Scots  Lowland  vernacular:  'in 
plain,  braid  Lallans.' 

i^ammie,  dim.  oi  lamb. 

Lan',  land. 


Lan'-afore,  the  foremost  horse  on  the  un- 
ploughed  land  side. 

Lan'-ahi7i,  the  hindmost  horse  on  the  un- 
ploughed  land  side. 

Lane,  lone. 

Lang,  long. 

Lat7g  syne,  long  since. 

Lap,  leapt. 

Lassie,  dim.  oi  lass. 

Lave,  the  rest,  the  remainder,  the  others. 

Laverock,  Lav'rock,  the  lark. 

Latvin,  the  reckoning,  '  landlady,  count  the 
lawin,'  '  guidwife,  count  the  lawin.' 

Lea,  grass,  untilled  land  [also  used  in  an 
equivocal  sense]. 

Lear,  lore,  learning. 

Leddy,  lady. 

Lee-lang,  live-long. 

Leesome,  lawful  [allowable] :  '  the  tender 
heart  o'  leesome  loove.' 

Leeze  me  on  [from  Leis  me  =  dear  is  to  me], 
blessings  on^  commend  me  to  :  '  leeze  me 
on  thee,  John  Barleycorn,'  '  leeze  me  on 
drink,'  '  leeze  me  on  rhyme,'  '  leeze  me  on 
the  calling,'  etc. ;  '  O  leeze  me  on  my  spin- 
nin-wheel,'  '  leeze  me  on  thy  bonie  craigie.* 

Leister,  a  fish-spear :  '  a  three-tae'd  leister 
on  the  ither.' 

Len\  to  lend. 

Leugh,  laugh'd :  '  how  graceless  Ham  leugh 
at  his  dad.' 

Lenk,  look. 

Ley-crap,  lea-crop  [used  equivocally]  : '  waly 
fa'  the  ley-crap.' 

Libbet,  castrate  :  '  how  libbet  Italy  was  sing- 
ing.' 

Licket,  lickit,  licked,  beaten,  whipt :  '  ye  sud 
be  lickit,'  '  how  I  've  been  licket.' 

Licks,  a  beating,  punishment :  '  monie  a 
fallow  gat  his  licks.' 

Lien,  lain. 

Lieve,  lief. 

Lift,  the  sky. 

Lift,  a  load  :  '  gie  me  o'  wit  an'  sense  a  lift.' 

Lightly,  (i)  to  disparage :  '  whyles  ye  may 
lightly  my  beauty  a  wee ' ;  (2)  to  scorn : 
'  for  lack  o'  gear  ye  lightly  me.' 

Lilt,  to  sing  :  '  lilt  wi'  holy  clangor.' 

Limmer,  (i)  a  jade:  'still  persecuted  by 
the  limmer,'  '  ye  little  skelpie-limmer's- 
face ' ;  (2)  a  mistress :  '  or  speakin  lightly 
o'  their  limmer.' 


GLOSSARY. 


405 


Limpet,  limpit,  limped. 

Lin,  V.  Litin. 

Link,  (i)  to  trip  or  dance  with  the  utmost 
possible  activity ;  'and  linket  at  it  in  her 
sark ' ;  (2)  to  hurry :  '  will  send  him  linkin.' 

Linn,  a  waterfall. 

Lint,  flax:  'sin'  lint  was  i'  the  bell,'  'I 
bought  my  wife  a  stane  o'  lint.' 

Lint-w/iite,  flax-colored  [a  pale  yellow]  : 
'  Lassie  wi'  the  lint-white  locks.' 

Lintiohite,  the  linnet :  '  the  lintwhites  chant 
amang  the  buds,'  '  the  mavis  and  the 
lintwhite  sing,'  '  the  blackbird  strong,  the 
lintwhite  clear,'  '  the  lintwhites  in  the  hazel 
braes,' '  the  little  lintwhite's  nest.' 

Lippcn'd,  trusted :  '  1  lippen'd  to  the  chiel.' 

Lippie,  dim.  of  Up. 

Loan,  a  lane,  a  field-path,  the  private  road 
to  a  farm  or  house :  '  the  kye  stood  rowtin 
i'  the  loan,' '  and  up  the  loan  she  shaw'd 
me.' 

Loanin,  the  private  road  to  a  farm,  a  road  : 
•  wi'  double  plenty  o'er  the  loanin.' 

Lo'ed,  loved. 

Lon'on,  London. 

Loof  [pi.  looves],  the  palm  of  the  hand: 
'an  's  loof  upon  her  bosom,'  'an'  heav'd 
on  high  my  waukit  loof,'  '  hear'st  thou, 
laddie  —  there  's  my  loof,'  '  an'  wi'  her  loof 
her  face  a-washin,'  '  O  lay  thy  loof  in  mine, 
lass,'  '  the  gossip  keekit  in  his  loof,'  '  wi' 
well-spread  looves,  an'  lang  wry  faces.' 

Loon,  loun,  lown,  a  fellow,  a  varlet  [very  fre- 
quent]. 

Loowfue,  lovable:  'loosome  kimmers.' 

Loot,  let :  '  loot  a  winze,'  '  I  never  loot  on 
that  I  kenn'd  it.* 

Loove,  love. 

Looves,  v.  Loof. 

Losh,  a  minced  oath  [a  mild  form  of  Lord] : 
'  Losh,  man,  hae  mercy  wi'  your  natch.' 

Longh,  a  pond,  a  lake :  '  ayont  the  lough,' 
'  when  to  the  loughs  the  curlers  flock.' 

Loup,  loiip,  to  leap. 

Low,  lowe,  a  flame:  'the  sacred  lowe  o' 
weel-plac'd  love.'     See  also  Ingle-lowe. 

Lowin,  lowing,  (i)  flaming:  '  lowin  brun- 
stane,'  'tho'  yon  lowin  heugh  "s  thy 
hame';  (2)  burning:  'to  quench  their 
lowin  drouth.' 

Lown,  V.  Loon. 

Loup,  V.  Lj)up. 


Lowse,  louse,  (i)  to  untie :  '  lowse  his  pack' 

(2)    let    loose :    '  lows'd    his    ill-tongued 

wicked   scaul,*   'lows'd    his  tinkler  jaw,' 

'  louse  Hell  upon  me.' 
Lucky,  (i)  a  grandmother,  an  old  woman  : 

'honest  Lucky';  (2)  an  ale-wife:  'Lady 

Onlie,  Honest  f^ucky.' 
Lug,  the  ear. 
Ltigget,  having  ears :  '  lugget  caup  '  =  twy- 

eared  cup. 
Luggie,  a  porringer  :  '  the  luggies  three  are 

ranged,'  '  that  jaups  in  luggies.' 
Lutn,  the  chimney. 

Lume,  a  loom  :  '  wark-lume'  =  a  tool. 
Lunar di,   a   balloon- bonnet    [named    after 

Lunardi,  a   famous   balloonist]  :  '  Miss's 

fine  Lunardi.' 
Lunches,   full    portions :     '  dealt    about    in 

lunches.' 
Lunt,  a  column  of  smoke  or  steam :  '  she 

fuff't  her  pipe  wi  'sic  a  lunt,*  '  butter'd 

sow'ns,  wi'  fragrant  lunt.' 
Luntin,  smoking:  'the  luntin  pipe.* 
Luve,  love. 
Lyart,  (i)  grey   in   general :   '  but   ane  wi' 

lyart  lining  ' ;   (2)  discolored  by  decay  or 

old  age :  '  lyart  haffets  wearing  thin  and 

bare,*    '  lyart    pow,*    '  lyart    gray,'   '  lyart 

leaves.' 
Lynin,  lining. 

Mae,  more. 

Mailen,    mailin,    a    farm :     '  than    stocket 

mailins,'  '  there  's  Meg  wi'  a  mailen,'  '  a 

mailen  plenish'd  fairly,'  'a  weel-stocket 

mailen.' 
Mailie,  Molly. 
Mair,  more. 
Maist,  most. 
Maist,  almost. 
Afak,  make. 
Mak  0' ,  make  0',  to  pet,  to  fondle :  '  I  will 

mak  o'  my  guidman,'  '  makin  of's  the 

best  thing.' 
Mall,  Mally,  Moll,  Molly  [Mary]. 
Manteele,  a  mantle. 
Mark,  or  merk,  an  old  Scots  coin   [i3sd. 

sterling]. 
Mashlum,  of  mixed  meal :  '  mashlum  bon- 

nocks.' 
A  fas  kin-pat,  the  teapot. 
Maukin,  a  hare :    '  hunger'd  maukin  taen 


4o6 


GLOSSARY. 


her  way,'  '  ye  maukins,  cock  your  fud  fu' 
braw,'  '  ye  maukins,  whiddin  through  the 
glade,' '  the  coward  maukin  sleep  secure,' 
'  skip't  like  a  maukin  owre  a  dyke,'  '  are 
hunted  like  a  maukin.' 

Maim,  must. 

Maiinna,  mustn't. 

Maid,  malt. 

Mavis,  the  thrush. 

Mawin,  mowing. 

Mawn,  mown. 

Mawn,  a  large  basket :  '  and  cover  him 
under  a  mawn,  O.'  Cf.'A  thousand 
favours  from  a  maund  she  drew,'  Shake- 
speare, Lover  s  Coiuplamt,  1.  36. 

Mear,  a  mare. 

Meikle,  mickle,  muckle,  much,  great. 

Melder,  the  quantity  of  corn  sent  to  be 
ground :  '  ilka  melder  wi'  the  miller.' 

Me II,  to  meddle  :  '  wi'  bitter  deathfu'  wines 
to  mell,'  '  to  moop  an'  mell.' 

Melvie,  to  meal-dust :  *  melvie  his  braw 
claithing.' 

Men',  to  mend. 

Mense,  tact,  discretion :  '  could  behave  her- 
sel  wi'  mense,'  '  ye  but  show  your  little 
mense.' 

Menseless,  unmannerly:  'like  other  mense- 
less,  graceless  brutes.' 

Merle,  the  blackbird :  '  the  merle,  in  his 
noontide  bower.' 

Alerrati,  Marian. 

Mess  Johti,  Mass  John  [the  parish  priest, 
the  minister ;  in  Chaucer  and  Shakespeare 
'  Sir  John  '  is  the  name  for  the  priest]. 

Messin,  a  cur,  a  mongrel :  '  a  tinkler-gipsy's 
messin.' 

Midden,  a  dunghill :  '  better  stuff  ne'er 
claw'd  a  midden.' 

Midden-creels,  manure-baskets  :  '  her  walie 
nieves  like  midden-creels.' 

Midden  dub,  midden  puddle. 

Midden-hole,  a  gutter  at  the  bottom  of  the 
dunghill  (R.  B.)  :  '  an'  ran  thro'  midden- 
hole  an'  a'.' 

Milking  shiel,  a  milking  shed. 

Mim,  prim,  affectedly  meek  (R.  B.)  :  'an' 
meek  an'  mim  has  view'd  it.' 

Mim-mou'd,  prim-lipped :  '  some  mim- 
mou'd,  pouther'd  priestie,'  '  mim-mou'd 
Meg  o'  Nith.' 

Min\  f?iind,  remembrance. 


Mind,  to  remember,  to  bear  in  mind. 

Minnie,  mother. 

A'lirk,  dark,  gloomily  dark. 

A'lisca' ,  to  miscall,  to  abuse :  '  an'  Russell 
sair  misca'd  her,"  '  they  sair  misca'  thee,' 
'  misca'd  waur  than  a  beast.' 

Mishatiter,  mishap :  '  mishanter  fa'  me,' 
'  till  some  mishanter.' 

Mislear'd,  mischievous,  unmannerly  (R.  B.). 

Miss't,  mist,  missed. 

Afistak,  mistake. 

A'listeuk,  mistook. 

Mither,  mother. 

Monie,  many. 

Mools,  crumbling  earth,  dust:  'worthy 
frien's  laid  i'  the  mools,'  '  he  wha  could 
brush  them  down  to  mools.' 

Moop,  (i)  to  nibble:  'to  moop  an'  mell'; 
(2)  to  keep  close  company,  to  med- 
dle: 'gars  me  moop  wi'  the  servant 
hizzie.' 

Afottie,  dusty:  '  mottie,  misty  clime.' 

Moil',  the  mouth. 

Moudieworts  [Old  Engl,  mold-warp,  i.e.  the 
warper  of  the  mold  or  earth],  moles: 
'  whyles  mice  an'  moudieworts  they 
howkit.' 

Muckle,  v.  Meikle. 

Muslin-kail,  beefless  broth :  '  water  brose 
or  muslin-kail.' 

Alutchkin,  an  English  pint :  '  her  mutchkin 
stowp  as  toom's  a  whistle,*  '  come,  bring 
the  tither  mutchkin  in,'  '  ae  hauf-mutch- 
kin  does  me  prime.* 

Atysel,  myself. 

Na,  nae,  no,  not. 

Naethi?ig,  naithing,  nothing. 

I^'aig,  a  nag. 

Naigie,  dim.  oinaig. 

Nane,  none. 

Nappy,  ale,  liquor:  '  twalpennie  worth  o' 
nappy,'  '  the  nappy  reeks  wi'  mantling 
ream,'  '  while  we  sit  bousing  at  the 
nappy,'  '  drown'd  himsel  amang  the 
nappy,'  '  there  's  naething  like  the  honest 
nappy.' 

Natch,  a  notching  implement :  '  hae  mercy 
wi'  your  natch.' 

Neebor,  neibor,  neighbour, 

Needna,  needn't. 

Negleckit,  neglected. 


GLOSSARY. 


407 


Neive,  v.  Nieve. 

Neuk,  newk,  a  nook,  a  corner. 

Xezu-ca'd,  newly-driven  [not  newly  calved] : 
'while  new-ca'd  kye  rowte  at  the  stake' 
[Burns's  kye  did  not  make  it  a  habit  to 
calve,  ali,  or  the  most  of  them,  at  a  par- 
ticular hour  of  the  same  evening,  and 
that  the  21st  of  April]. 

Nick  [Auld],  Nickie-ben,  a  name  of  the 
Devil. 

Nick,  (i)  to  sever :  '  to  nick  the  thread," 
'  nickin  down  fu'  cannie,  the  staff  o' 
bread'  ;  (2)  to  slit:  'that  nicket  Abel's 
craig';  (3)  to  nail,  to  seize  away:  'by 
fell  Death  was  nearly  nicket.' 

Nickie-ben,  v.  Nick. 

Nick-nackets,  curiosities. 

Nicks,  (i)  cuts :  '  clours  an*  nicks ' ;  (2)  the 
rings  on  a  cow's  horns :  '  auld  Crummie's 
nicks,' 

Niest,  next. 

Nieve,  the  fist. 

Nieve-fu',  fistful:  'their  worthless'  nieve-fu' 
of  a  soul.* 

Niffer,  exchange :  '  and  shudder  at  the  nif- 
fer.* 

Nit,  a  nut. 

No,  not. 

Nockt,  nothing. 

Norland,  Northern  [Northland]. 

Nowt,  nowte  [Engl.  Neai\,  cattle. 

a,  of. 

O'erword,  (i)  the  refrain:   'the  o'erword  o' 

the  spring ' ;    (2)  catchword :   '  prudence 

is  her  o'erword  ay.* 
Onie,  any. 
Or,  ere,  before. 

Orra,  extra :  '  their  orra  duddies.' 
O '/,  of  it. 
Ought,  aught. 
Oughtlins,  aughtlins,  aught  in  the  least,  at 

all :  '  oughtlins  douser,'     V.  Aughtlins. 
Ourie,  shivering,  drooping   (R.  B.)  :    'the 

ourie  cattle.' 
Oursel,  oursels,  ourselves. 
Gutter,  unhoused,  in  the  open  fields :  '  an 

outler  quey.' 
Owre,  over,  too. 
Owsen,  oxen. 
Oxter  d,   held   up   under   the   arms :     '  the 

priest  he  was  oxter'd.* 


Pack  an  thick,  confidential :  '  unco  pack  an' 
thick  thegither.* 

Paidle,  (i)  to  paddle,  to  wade:  'thro'  dirt 
and  dub  for  life  I  '11  paidle,'  '  we  twa  hae 
paidl'd  in  the  burn  ' ;  (2)  to  walk  with  a 
weak  action :  '  he  was  but  a  paidlin 
body,  O.* 

Pai7ich,  the  paunch. 

Paitrick,  (i)  a  partridge;  (2)  used  equivo- 
cally [the  bird  was  once  esteemed  sala- 
cious] :  '  I  brocht  a  paitrick  to  the  grun.' 

Pang,  to  cram :  '  it  pangs  us  fu'  o'  knowl- 
edge.' 

Parishen,  the  parish  \i.e.  the  persons  of  the 
parish] :  '  the  pride  of  a'  the  parishen.' 

Parritch,  porridge. 

Parr  itch-pats,  porridge-pots. 

Pat,  pot. 

Pat,  put. 

Pattle,  pettle,  a  plough-staff :  '  my  new 
pleugh-pettle,'  '  wi'  murdering  pattle,'  '  as 
ever  drew  before  a  pettle.' 

Paughty,  haughty  :  '  yon  paughty  dog,'  '  the 
paughty  feudal  throne.' 

Paukie,  pauky,  pawkie,  artful:  'the  slee'st, 
pawkie  thief,'  '  her  paukie  een,"  '  a  thief 
sae  pawkie  is  my  Jean.' 

Pechan,  the  stomach :  '  the  ha'  folk  fill  their 
pechan.' 

Pechin,  panting,  blowing :  '  up  Parnassus 
pechin.' 

Penny-wheep,  small  beer :  '  be 't  whisky-gill 
or  penny-wheep." 

Pettle,  V.  Pattle. 

Philibeg,  the  Highlander's  kilt:  'Adam's 
philibeg,'  '  with  his  philibeg  an'  tartan 
plaid,'  '  the  philibegs  and  skyrin  tartan 
trews.' 

Phraisin,  fiattering,  wheedling:  'phraisin 
terms.' 

Phrase,  to  flatter,  to  wheedle ;  '  to  phrase 
you  an'  praise  you.' 

Pickle,  (i)  a  few,  a  little:  'a  pickle  nits'; 
(2)  a  '  pickle  siller.' 

Pint  [Scots],  two  English  quarts. 

Pit,  put. 

Plack,  four  pennies  Scots  [but  only  the 
third  of  an  English  penny]. 

Plackless,  penniless  :  '  poor,  plackless  devils 
like  mysel.' 

Plaiden,  coarse  woollen  cloth:  'to  warp  a 
plaiden  wab,'  '  a  wab  o'  plaiden.' 


4o8 


GLOSSARY. 


Plaister,  plaster. 

Pyke,  to  pick :  '  sae  merrily  the  banes  we  'L 

Plenish'd,    stocked:    'a  mailen    plenished 

pyke.' 

fairly.' 

Pyles,  grains :  '  may  hae  some  pyles  o'  cafi 

Pleugh-pettle,  v.  Pattle. 

in.' 

Pleugh.plew,  a  plough. 

Pliskie,  a  trick :  '  play'd  her  that  pliskie.' 

Quat,  quit,  quitted. 

Pliver,  a  plover. 

Quean,  a  young  woman,  a  lass :  '  now  Tam, 

Pock,  a  poke,  a  small  bag,  a  wallet:  'the 

O  Tam !    had   thae   been   queans,'  '  the 

auld  guidman   raught   down   the  pock,' 

sonsie  quean,'  '  wha  follows  onie  saucie 

'  they  toom'd  their  pocks.' 

quean.' 

Poind,  to   seize   [originally  in   war,   or   as 

Quey,  a  young  cow  [that  has  not  calved]. 

prey],  to   distrain,  to   impound:    'poind 

Quire,  choir. 

their  gear.' 

Quo',  quod,  quoth. 

Poind,  distrained:  'poind  and  herriet.' 

Poortith,  poverty. 

Rab,  Rob  [dim.  of  Robert], 

Pou,  to  pull. 

Rade,  rode. 

Pouch,  pocket. 

Raep,  a  rope. 

Pouk,  to  poke :  '  and  pouk  my  hipSo* 

Ragweed,  ragwort,  benweed  \Senecio  Jaco- 

Poiipit,  pulpit. 

bea,  Linn.] :  '  on  ragweed  nags.' 

Pause,  a  push  :  '  a  random  pouse.' 

Raibles,  recites  by  rote :    '  an'  Orthodoxy 

Poussie,  a  hare  [also  a  cat] :  '  poussie  whid- 

raibles.' 

din  seen.'     V.  Pussie. 

Rair,  to  roar. 

Pouther,  powther,  powder. 

Rairin,  roaring. 

Ptf«A,  chicks : '  an'  the  wee  pouts  begin  to  cry.' 

Rair't,  roared. 

Pow,  the  poll,  the  head. 

Raise,  rase,  rose. 

Pownie,  a  pony. 

Raize,    to    excite:    'that    daur't    to    raize 

Pow't,  pulled :  '  an'  pow't,  for  want  o*  better 

thee.' 

shift.' 

RajnfeezVd,  exhausted :  '  the  tapetless,  ram- 

Preed,  pried  [proved],  tasted:    'for  ay  he 

feezl'd  hizzie/ 

pree'd  the  lassie's  mou*,' '  Rob,  stownlins. 

Ramgunshoch,  surly:   'our  ramgunshoch, 

pried  her  bonie  mou'.' 

glum  guidman.' 

Preen,  a  pin :  '  my  memory 's  no  worth  a 

Ra?n-sta?n,  headlong:  '  harum-scarum,  ram- 

preen.' 

stam  boys.' 

Prent,  print.    • 

Ratidie,  lawless,  obstreperous:    'a  merrie 

Prief,  proof:  'for  ne'er  a  bosom  yet  vas 

core  o'  randie,  gangrel  bodies.' 

prief,' '  stuff  o'  prief.' 

Raiidie,  rafidy,  (i)  a  scoundrel :    '  bann'd 

Priggin,  haggling :  *  priggin  owre  hops  an' 

the  cruel    randy';    (2)   a    rascal:    'reif 

raisins  ' 

randies,  I  disown  thee.* 

Primsie,   dim.  of  prim^  precise:  'primsie 

Ra7zt,  (i)  to  rollick;   (2)  to  roister  [frequent 

Mallie.' 

examples  of  both  meanings] 

Proveses,  provosts   [chief  magistrate  of  a 

Rants,  (i)   merry  meetings,  sprees:    'our 

Scots  burgh] :  '  ye  worthy  proveses.' 

fairs    and    rants,'     '  drucken     [drunken] 

Pu',  to  pull. 

rants ' ;   (2)  rows :  '  an'  bloody  rants.' 

Puddock-stools,     toad-stools,     mushrooms : 

Rape,  V.  Raep. 

'  like  simmer  puddock-stools.' 

Raploch,  homespun:   'tho'  rough  an'  rap- 

Puir,  poor. 

loch  be  her  measure.' 

Pun',  pund,  pound. 

Rash,  a  rush :   '  as  feckless  as  a  withered 

Pursie,  dim„  of  purse. 

rash,"  'green  grow  the  rashes.* 

Pussie,  a  hare :    '  as  open  pussie  s  mortal 

Rash-buss,  a  clump  of  rushes:  'ye,  like  a 

foes.'    V.  Poussie. 

rash-buss,  stood  in  sight.' 

Pyet,  a  magpie :    '  cast  my  een  up  like  a 

Rashy,     rushy:      'aboon    the    plain    sae 

pyet; 

rashy,  O.' 

GLOSSARY. 


409 


Rattan,  ratton.  a  rat :  '  an'  heard  the  restless 

rattons  squeak,'  '  a  ratton  ratti'd  up  the 

wa',   '  while    friglitcd    rattons    backward 

leuk,'  '  like  baudrons  by  a  ratton.   V.  Kot- 

tan. 
Ratton-key,  the  Rat-Quay. 
A'auc/e,{i)  strong,  bitter :  '  a  rauclc  tongue  ' ; 

(2)  sturdy:  'a  raucle  carlin.' 
Rai/ght,  reached  :  '  the  auld  guidnian  raught 

down  the  pock.' 
Raw,  a  row. 
Rax,  to  stretch,  to  extend  :  '  and  may  ye  rax 

Corruption's  neck,' '  rax  your  leather '  = 

fill  your  stomach;  'ye  wha  leather  rax,' 

'  raxin  conscience  '  =  elastic  conscience ; 

'  how  cesses,  stents,  and  fees  were  rax'd.' 
Ream,  cream,  foam  :  *  the  nappie  reeks  \vi' 

mantling  ream.' 
Ream,  to  cream,  to  foam  :  'ream  owre  the 

brink,'  '  thou   reams   the   horn   in,'   '  wi' 

reaming  swats,  that  drank  divinely,' '  the 

swats  sae  ream'd  in   Tammie's   noddle,' 

'but  there  it  streams,  an"  richly  reams.' 
Reave,  to  rob :  '  reave  an'  steal." 
Rebnte,  rebuff;  '  ne'er  break  your  heart  for 

ae  rebute.' 
Red,    advised,    afraid :     '  I  'm    red    ye  're 

glaikit.' 
Red,  rede,  to  advise,  to  counsel. 
Rtde,  counsel :  '  and  may  ye  better  reck  the 

rede.'      Cf.   '  Recks   not   his   own   rede,' 

Shakespeare,  Hamlet^  i.  3.  51. 
Red-ioat-shod,  red-wet-shod  :  '  still  pressing 

onward,  red-wat-shod.' 
Red-wild,  stark  mad :  '  an'  now  she 's  like  to 

rin  red-wud.' 
Reek,  smoke. 
Reek,  to  smoke. 
Reekie,  reeky,  smoky. 
Reestit,    scorched:    ' wi'   reekit    duds    an* 

reestit  gizz.' 
Reestit,  refused  to  go :  '  in  cart  or  car  thou 

never  reestit.' 
/?<?^'/;  thieving:  ' reif  randies.*    V,  Rief 
Remead,  remedy. 
Rickles,  ricklets  [small  stacks  of  corn  in  the 

fields]  :    '  nor  kick  your  rickles  aff  their 

legs.* 
i?/^  plunder:  'that  e'er  attempted  stealth 

or  rief.'     V.  Reif. 
Rig,  a  ridge  [of  land], 
Riggin.  (i)  the  roof-tree :  '  rattons  squeak 


aijout  the  riggin  * ;   (2)  the  roof :  '  or  kirk 

deserted  by  its  riggin.' 
Rigwoodie,'A.x\c\^n\,\c2L.Xi;  '  rig-woodie  hags 

wad  spean  a  foal.' 
Rin,  to  run. 
Ripp,  a  handful  of  corn  from   the  sheaf: 

'  teats  o*  hay  an'  ripps  o'  corn,'  '  there  's  a 

ripp  to  thy  auld  baggie.' 
RippUn-kame,  the  wool-  or  flax-comb  :  '  he 

claw'd  her  wi'  the  ripplin-kame.' 
Risklt,  cracked  :  '  wad  rair't  an'  riskit.' 
Rive,  (i)   to   split :    '  he   rives   his  father's 

auld  entails,' '  they  '11  rive  it  wi"  the  plew  ' ; 

(2)  to  tear:  '  are  riven  out  baith  root  an' 

branch,'  '  rives 't  aff  their  back,' '  riven  the 

words  to  gar  them  clink';    (3)  to  tug: 

'till  him  rives  Horatian  fame';    (4)  to 

burst :  '  maist  like  to  rive.* 
Rock,  a  distaff. 
Kockin,  a  social  meeting. 
Roon,  round,  shred:  'wore  by  degrees,  till 

her  last  roon.' 
Roose,  to  praise,  to  flatter. 
Roose,  reputation  :  '  ye  hae  made  but  toom 

roose.* 
Roosty,  rusty. 
Rottafi,   a  rat:   'the  tail  o'  a  rottan.'    V., 

Rattan, 
Roun\  round. 
Roiipet,   exhausted   in   voice :    '  my   roupet 

muse  is  haerse,' '  till  ye  are  haerse  an* 

roupet.' 
Roiith,  V.  Rowth. 
Routhie,  well-stocked :    '  a  routhie  butt,  a 

routhie  ben.' 
Row,  rowe,  (i)  to  roll :  '  if  bowls  row  right ' ; 

(2)  to  flow,  as  a  river  [very  frequent] ; 

(3)  to  wrap  [also  very  frequent]. 
Rowte,  to  low,  to  bellow :  '  while  new-ca'd 

kye  rowte  at  the  stake,'  '  rowte  out-owre 

the  dale,'  'to  hear  you  roar  and  rowte,' 

'  the  kye  stood  rowtin.' 
Rowth,   plenty,    a    store :    '  ay,    a    rowth,' 

'  rowth  o'  rhyme[s],' '  routh  o'  gear.' 
Rozet,  rosin  :  '  mercurial  rozet.' 
Riin-deils,  downright  devils. 
Rung,  a  cudgel  :  '  she 's  just  a  devil  wi'  a 

rung,' '  a  nieikle  hazel-rung,' '  round  about 

the  fire  wi'  a  rung  she  ran,' '  wi'  a  rung 

decide  it.' 
RunkVd,  wrmkled :  '  yon  runkl'd  pair.* 
Rtatt,   a    cabbage-   or    colewort-stalk:     'f 


410 


GLOSSARY. 


runt,  was  like  a  sow-tail,'  '  his  bow-kail 
runt,'  '  runts  o'  grace.* 
Ryke,  to  reach. 

Sab,  to  sob. 
Sae,  so. 
Saft,  soft. 

Sair,  sore,  hard,  severe,  strong. 
Sair,    to   serve :    '  what   sairs   your    gram- 
mars '  =  what    avails     your    grammars ; 

'  some  less  maun  sair,"  '  your  clerkship  he 

should  sair,' '  I  'd  better  gaen  an'  sair't  the 

king,'  '  your  billie  Satan  sair   us,'  '  he  '11 

sair  them  as  he  sair't  his  King.' 
Sair,  sairly,  sorely,  etc. 
Sairie,  (i)  sorrowful :  '  the  melancholious, 

sairie   croon  ' ;    (2)   sorry :    '  some   sairie 

comfort  at  the  last.' 
Sail,  shall. 

Sandy,  Sannock,  dim.  of  Alexander, 
Sark,  a  shirt. 
Saugh,   the  -willow :    '  o'  saugh   or  hazle,' 

'  saugh  woodies  *  =  willow  twigs. 
Saul,  soul. 

Saumont,  sawmont,  the  salmon. 
Saunt,  saint. 
Saut,  salt. 

Saut-backets,  v.  Backets. 
Saw,  to  sow. 
Sawney,  v.  Sandy. 
Sax,  six. 
Scar,  to  scare. 

Scathe,  scaith,  damage  ;  v.  Skaith. 
Scaud,  to  scald. 

Scaul,  scold :  '  his  ill-tongu'd  wicked  scaul.' 
Scauld,  to  scold. 
Scaur,  afraid,  apt  to  be  scared  :  '  nor  blate 

nor  scaur.' 
Scaur,   a  jutting   cliff  or   bank   of    earth : 

'  whyles  round  a  rocky  scaur   it  strays,' 

'  beneath  a  scaur.' 
Scho,  she. 
Scone,  a  soft  -cake :   '  souple  scones,'  '  hale 

bi  eeks,  a  scone,  and   whisky   gill,'   '  an' 

barley-scone  shall  cheer  me.' 
Scanner,  disgust. 
Scanner,  sicken  [with  disgust]  :  '  until  they 

sconner.* 
Scraichin,  C3.\\\r\g  hoarsely:   'and  paitricks 

scraichin  loud  at  e'en.' 
Screed,  a  rip,  a  rent:  'a  screed  some  day,' 

'  or  lasses  gie  my  heart  a  screed.' 


Screed,  to  repeat  rapidly,  to  rattle :  '  he  'II 

screed  you  aff  "  Effectual  Calling."  ' 
Scriechin,   screeching:    'and   scriechin  out 

prosaic  verse.'     V.  Skriech. 
Scriegh,  skriegh  :   '  thou   wad    prance,   an' 

snore,  an'  skriegh.'     V.  Skriegh. 
Scrievin,       careering :        '  gae       down-hill, 

scrievin,'    '  owre    the  hill   gaed    scrievin,' 

'  then  hiltie-skeltie,  we  gae  scrievin.' 
Scroggie,  sooggy,    scrubby :    '  amang    the 

braes  sae  scroggie,'  '  down  yon  scroggy 

glen.' 
Sculdudd'ry,  bawdry:  '  sculdudd'ry  an'  he 

will  be  there.' 
See'd,  saw  [pret.  of  see"]. 
Seisifts,   freehold    possessions :    '  in   bonds 

and  seisins.' 
Sel,  seV ,  sell,  self. 
Sell'd,  sell't,  sold. 
Semple,    simple:    '  semple    folk '  =  humble 

folk. 
Sen\  send. 
Set,  to  set  off,  to  start :  '  for  Hornbook  sets,' 

'  while  for  the  barn  she  sets.' 
Set,  sat. 
Sets,  becomes:  'it  sets  you  ill,'  '  nane  sets 

the  lawn-sleeve  sweeter.' 
Shachl'd,  shapeless:  'how  her  new  shoon 

fit  her  auld,  shachl'd  feet.' 
Shaird,  shred,  shard  :  '  the  hindmost  shaird.' 
Shangan,  a  cleft  stick  :  '  he  '11  clap  a  shangan 

on  her  tail.' 
Shanna,  shall  not. 

Shaiil,  shallow  :  '  an'  Peebles  shaul.' 
Shaver,  a  funny  fellow :  '  he  was  an  unco 

shaver.' 
Shaiv,  a  wood. 
Shaw,  to  show. 
Shearer,  a  reaper  [with  a  hook  originally, 

but  now  reapers  in  general]. 
Sheep-shank,  a  sheep's  trotter :  '  nae  sheep- 
shank   bane'  =  a   person   of    no    small 

importance. 
Sheerly,  wholly  :  '  priests  wyte  them  sheerly.' 
Sheers,  scissors. 
Sherra-moor,  Sheriffmuir. 
Sheugh,  a  small  cutting  to  allow  water  to 

run  away,  a  ditch,  a  furrow:  '  as  ever  lap 

a  sheugh  or  dyke,'  '  a  cottar  howkin  in  a 

sheugh,'  '  they  '11  a'  be  trench'd  wi'  monie 

a  sheugh,'  '  and  reekin-red  ran  monie  a 

sheugh.' 


GLOSSARY. 


411 


the  swallow  jinkin 
See    also    Milking- 


Sheitk,  shook. 

Shid,  a  shed,  cottage  : 
round    my    shiel. 
sh'tel. 

Skill,  shrill. 

Shog,  a  shake  :  '  an'  gied  the  infant  warld  a 
shog.'  Cf. '  His  gang  garis  all  your  chalm- 
eris  schog,'  Dunbar,  On  James  Dog. 

Shool,  a  shovel. 

Shoon,  shoes. 

Shore,  (i)  to  offer :  '  even  as  I  was  he  shor'd 
me,"  '  and  shor'd  them  "  Dainty  Davie,"  ' 
*  I  doubt  na  Fortune  may  you  shore ' ; 
(2)  to  menace,  to  threaten :  '  had  shor'd 
them  with  a  glimmer  of  his  lamp,'  '  has 
shor'd  the  Kirk's  undoin,'  '  an'  shore  him 
weel  w^i'  "  Hell," '  '  if  e'er  Detraction 
shore  to  smit  you,'  '  like  good  mothers, 
shore  before  ye  strike,'  '  first  shore  her 
wi'  a  gentle  kiss.' 

Short  syne,  a  little  ago :  '  as  short  syne 
broken-hearted.' 

Shouldna,  should  not. 

Shoiither,  showther,  shoulder. 

Share,  shore  [did  shear]  :  '  Robin  shure  in 
hairst.' 

Sic,  such. 

Siccan,  such  very. 

Sicker,  (i)  steady:   'to  keep  me  sicker'; 

(2)  '  sicker    score  '  =  strict    conditions ; 

(3)  certain :  '  thy  sicker  treasure.' 
Sidelins,  sideways  :  '  sidelins  sklented.' 
Siller,  silver,  money  in  general,  wealth. 
Simmer,  summer. 

Sin,  son :  '  his  sin  gat  Eppie  Sim  wi'  wean.' 

Sin  ,  since. 

Sindry,  sundry. 

Singet,  singed,  shrivelled :  '  singet  Sawnie.' 

Sinn,  the  sun  :  '  the  sinn  keeks.' 

Sinny,  sunny  :  '  in  the  pride  o'  sinny  noon.' 

Skaith,  damage. 

Skaith,  to  harm,  to  injure:  'the  Deil  he 
couldna  skaith  thee,'  '  think,  wicked  sin- 
ner, wha  ye  're  skaithing.' 

Skellum,  a  good-for-nothing,  a  scullion : 
'  thou  was  a  skellum,'  '  ilk  self-conceited 
critic-skellum,'  'by  worthless  skellums.' 

Skeigh,  skiegh,  skittish  :  '  when  thou  an' 
I  were  young  and  skiegh,'  '  and  Meg 
was  skeigh,'  '  look'd  asklent  and  unco 
skeigh.' 

Skelp,  a  slap,  a  smack :  '  I  gie  them  a  skelp 


as  they're  creeping  along,'  'skelp — a 
shot '  =  crack  —  a  shot. 
Skelp,  (i)  to  spank  [i.e.  to  trounce,  to  slap]  : 
'  to  skelp  and  scaiul  poor  dogs  like  me,' 
'  or  else  I  fear,  some  ill  ane  skelp  him,' '  wi' 
your  priest-skelping  turns';  (2)  'skelpin 
at  it '  =  driving  at  it ;  (3)  to  spank  [i.e.  to 
hasten,  to  move  quickly]:  'cam  skelpin 
up  the  way,'  '  skelpin  barefit,'  '  the  words 
come  skelpin  rank  an'  file,'  '  Tam  skelpit 
on  thro'  dub  and  mire,'  '  and  barefit 
skelp  ' ;  (4)  '  skelpin  jig  an'  reel '  =  danc- 
ing jig  and  reel;  (5)  'a  skelpin  kiss '  = 
a  sounding  kiss. 
Skelpie-limmer's-face,  a  technical  term  in 
female  scolding  [R.  B.] :  '  ye  little  skelpie- 
limmer's-face.' 

Skelvy,  shelvy:  'foaming  down  the  skelvy 
rocks.' 

Skiegh,  V.  Skeigh. 

Skinking,  watery :  '  nae  skinking  ware.' 

Skinklin,  small :  '  skinklin  patches.' 

Skirl,  to  cry  or  sound  shrilly :  '  skirlin 
weanies  '  =  squalling  babies, '  loud  skirl'd 
a'  the  lasses,'  '  an'  skirl  up  the  Bangor,' 
'  he  screw'd  his  pipes,  and  gart  them  skirl,' 
'  he  skirled  out  encore.' 

Sklent,  a  slant,  a  turn :  '  my  notion  's  taen  a 
sklent.' 

Sklent,  (i)  to  slant,  to  squint:  '  wi'  sklentin 
light,'  '  an'  sklented  on  the  man  of  Uzz,' 
'  ironic  satire,  sidelins  sklented,'  '  an' 
sklent  on  poverty  their  joke ' ;  (2)  to 
cheat :    '  to  lie  an'  sklent.' 

Skouth,  play  [freedom]  :  '  to  gie  their  malice 
skouth.' 

Skriech,  a  scream  :  wi'  monie  an  eldritch 
skriech  and  hollo.' 

Skriegh,  to  scream,  to  whinny:  '  prance  an' 
snore  an'  skriegh.' 

Skyrin,  flaring  :  '  skyrin  tartan  trews,  man.' 

Skyte,  squirt,  lash  [the  primary  meaning  of 
to  skyte  is  to  eject  forcibly  =  to  stool]  : 
'  when  hailstanes  drive  wi'  bitter  skyte.' 

Slade,  slid. 

Slae,  the  sloe. 

Slap,  (i)  a  breach  in  a  fence,  an  opening: 
'  to  slink  thro'  slaps,'  '  at  slaps  the  billies 
halt  a  blink,'  '  the  mosses,  waters,  slaps, 
and  styles  ' ;  (2)  a  gate  :  '  the  sheep-herd 
steeks  his  faulding  slap.' 

Slaw,  slow. 


412 


GLOSSARY. 


Slee,  sly,  ingenious. 

Sleekit,  (i)    sleek:   'wee,  sleekit,   cow'rin, 

tim'rous    beastie';    (2)    crafty:    'sleekit 

Chatham  Will.' 
Slidd'ry,  slippery :  '  Fortune's  slidd'ry  ba'.' 
Sloken,  to  slake:  'their  hydra  drouth  did 

sloken.' 
Slypet,  slipped :  '  an'  slypet  ow're '  =  fallen 

smoothly  over. 
Snia\  small. 

Smeddu7n,  a  powder :  '  or  fell,  red  smeddum.' 
St?ieek,  smoke. 
Smiddy,  smithy. 
Stnoor'd,  smothered. 
Stnoutie,  smutty. 
Smytrie,  a   small    collection,  a  litter:   *a 

smytrie  o'  wee  duddie  weans.' 
Snakin,  sneering :  '  wi'  hingin  lip  an'  snakin.* 
Snapper,  to  stumble :  '  Blind  Chance  let  her 

snapper  and  stoyte  on  her  way.' 
Snash,   abuse:    'how  they  maun    thole  a 

factor's  snash.* 
Snaw,  snow. 
Snaw-broo,  snow-brew  [melted  snow]  :  '  the 

snaw-broo   rowes.'     Cf.   '  A   man   whose 

blood  is  very  snow-broth,'  Shak.  Measure 

for  Measure,  i.  4.  58. 
Sned,  (1)  to  crop :  '  an'  legs,  an'  arms,  an* 

heads  will  sned ' ;  (2)  to  prune :  '  I  '11  sned 

besoms.' 
Sneeshin  mill,  a  snuff-box :  '  the  luntin  pipe, 

the  sneeshin  mill.' 
Snell,  bitter,  biting :  '  snell  and  keen,* '  the 

snellest  blast  at  mirkest  hours.' 
Snick,  a  latch :  '  when  click !  the  string  the 

snick  did  draw  ' ;  snick-drawing  =  schem- 
ing:   'ye  auld,  snick-drawing  dog,'   'he 

weel  a  snick  can  draw  '  =  he  is  good  at 

cheating.     Cf.  Engl,  a  draw-latch. 
Snirtle,  to  snigger :  '  he  feign'd  to  snirtle  in 

his  sleeve.' 
Snoods,  fillets :  '  and  silken  snoods  he  gae 

me  twa.' 
Snool,  (i)  to  cringe :  '  owre  proud  to  snool ' ; 

(2)  to  snub :  '  they  snool  me  sair.' 
Snoove,   to   go   slowly:     (i)   'thou   snoov't 

awa '  =  thou  jogged  along ;   (2)  '  snoov'd 

awa  '  =  toddled  off. 
Snowkit,  pried  with  the  nose  [expressive  of 

the    sound    made    by  the   dog's  nose] : 

'  snuff 'd  and  snowkit.' 
Sodger,  soger,  a  soldier. 


Sonsie,  sonsy,  pleasant,  good-natured,  jolly . 

'  his  honest,  sonsie,  bawsn't  face,' '  an  unco 

sonsie,'  '  fair  fa'  your  honest,  sonsie  face,* 

'sonsie,     smirking,     dear-bought     Bess,' 

'women   sonsie,   saft,  and    sappy,'   'the 

sonsie  quean,'  '  sae  sonsy  and  sweet.* 
Soom,  to  swim. 
Soor,  sour. 
Sotigh,  V.  Sugh, 
Souk,  suck:   'and  ay  she  took  the  tither 

souk.' 
Soupe,  sup,  liquid:    'the  soupe  their  only 

hawkie  does,afford '  =  the  milk.    V.  Sowp. 
Souple,  supple : '  souple  scones,'  'souple  tail,' 

'  souple  jad.' 
Souter,   cobbler:    'Souter  Hood,'  'Souter 

Johnie.* 
Sowps,  sups :  '  wi'  sowps  o'  kail,* '  sowps  o* 

drink.' 
Sowth,  to  hum  or  whistle  in  a  low  tone: 

'  we  '11  sit  an'  sowth  a  tune.* 
Sowther,  to  solder :    '  sowther  a'  in   deep 

debauches,'  'a  night  o'  guid  fellowship 

sowthers  it  a'.' 
Spae,  to  foretell :  '  to  spae  your  fortune.* 
Spalls,  chips  :  '  a'  to  spalls.' 
Spairge,  (i)  to  splash :  '  spairges  about  the 

brunstane    cootie ' ;    (2)    to  spatter :    '  a 

name  not  envy  spairges.' 
Spak,  spoke. 
Spates,  floods :  '  bombast  spates.*    See  also 

Speat. 
Spavie,  the  spavin. 
Spavlt,  spavined. 
Spean,  to  wean:   'wad  spean  a  foal'  [by 

disgust] . 
Speat,  a  flood :  '  the  roaring  speat.* 
Speel,  to  climb :   '  Moodie  speels  the  holy 

door,' '  ance  that  five-an'-forty  's  speel'd,' 

'  to  speel  .  .  .  the  braes  o'  fame,'  '  if  on  a 

beastie  I  can  speel,'  '  now  sma'  heart  hae 

I  to  speel  the  steep  Parnassus.' 
Speer,  spier,  to  esk. 

Speei,  to  spit :  '  to  speet  him  like  a  pliver.' 
Spence,  the    parlor :    '  keeps    the    spence,' 

'  ben  i'  the  spence.' 
Spier,  V.  Speer. 
Spleuchan,  (i)  tobacco-pouch  made  of  some 

sort  of  peltry:  '  Deil  mak  his  king's-hood 

in  a  spleuchan  *;   (2)  [equivocally],  'hurt 

her  spleuchan.* 
Splore,  (i)   a-  frolic:   'a    random-splore * ; 


GLOSSARY. 


413 


(2)  a  carousal :  '  in  Poosie-Nansie's  held 
the  splore ' ;  (3)  a  row :  *  he  bred  sic  a 
splore.' 

Sprachl'd,  clambered:  '  I  sprachl'd  up  the 
brae.' 

Sprattle,  scramble:  'sprawl  and  sprattle,' 
'  deep-lairing,  sprattle.' 

Sprcckled,  speckled. 

spring,  a  quick  tune,  a  dance :  '  I  've  play'd 
mysel  a  bonie  spring,'  '  he  play'd  a  spring, 
and  danc'd  it  round,'  '  Charlie  gat  the 
spring  to  pay,' '  the  o'envord  o'  the  spring.' 

Sprittie,  full  of  roots  of  sprits  [a  kind  of 
rush] :  '  sprittie  knowes.' 

Spnish,  spruce. 

Spunk,  (i)  a  match:  'well  light  a  spunk*; 

(2)  a  spark:   'a  spunk  o' Allan's  glee'; 

(3)  fire,  spirit :  '  a  man  o'  spunk,'  '  life 
and  spunk.' 

Spimkie,  sprightful,  full  of  spirit :  '  a  spunkie 
Norland  billie.' 

Spunkie,  liquor,  spirits :  '  and  spunkie  ance 
to  mak  us  mellow.* 

Spunkies,  jack-o'-lanthorns :  '  moss-travers- 
ing spunkies,'  '  fays,  spunkies,  kelpies.' 

Spurtle-blade,  the  pot-stick  [=  sword]. 

Squattle,  to  squat,  to  settle :  '  in  some  beg- 
gar's hauffet  squattle.' 

Stacker,  (i)  to  totter :  '  th'  expectant  wee- 
things,  toddlin,  stacher  through  ' ;  (2)  to 
stagger :  '  I  stacher'd  whyles,'  '  except 
when  drunk  he  stacher't  thro'  it.' 

Staggie,  dim.  oi  staig  [a  young  horse], 

Staig,  a  young  horse. 

Stan' ,  stand. 

Stanc,  stone. 

Stan't,  stood. 

Stang,  sting. 

Stank,  (i)  a  moat:  '  out-owre  a  stank'; 
(2)  a  pond :  '  the  Muses'  stank,'  *  soor 
Arminian  stank.' 

Sfap,  to  stop. 

Stapple,  a  stopper :  '  for  every  hole  to  get  a 
stapple.' 

Stark,  strong:  '  an' thou  was  stark,'  '  baith 
wight  and  stark.' 

Starnies,  diim.  of  starn  or  star:  'ye  twin- 
kling stamies  bright.' 

Starns,  stars:  'ye  hills,  near  neebors  o'  the 
starns.* 

Startle,  to  course :  '  or  down  Italian  vista 
Startles.' 


Staumrel,    half-witted:     ' staumrel,    corky- 
headed,  graceless  gentry.' 
Staw,  a  stall:  'your  horns  shall  tie  you  to 

the  staw.* 
Staw,  to  surfeit,  to  sicken :  '  olio  that  would 

staw  a  sow.' 
Staw,  stole :  '  auld  hermit  Ayr  staw  thro'  his 

woods,* '  the  lasses  staw  frae  'mang  them 

a',*  •  staw  my  rose,'  '  staw  the  linin  o  't,' 

'  staw  a  branch.' 
Stechin,   cramming:    'the  gentry  first  are 

stechin.' 
Steek,  a  stitch:  'thro'  the  steeks,' '  ne'er  a 

wrang  steek  in  them  a',  man.* 
Steek,  to  shut,  to  close :   '  their  solemn  een 

may  steek,*  '  steek  their  een,*  '  steek  your 

gab  for  ever,'  '  the  sheep-herd  steeks  his 

faulding  slap,' '  and  bonie  bosoms  steekit ' 

\i.e.  closed  in]. 
Steer,  (i)  to  stir:  'steer  about  the  toddy, 

'  set  a'  their  gabs  a-steerin  '  \i.e.  moving]  ; 

(2)    rouse :    '  O   steer  her  up ' ;    (3)    to 

touch,  meddle  with :  '  the  Deil,  he  daurna 

steer,'  '  nae  cauid  nor  hunger  e'er  can 

steer  them,'  '  thy  servant  true  wad  never 

steer  her,'  '  misfortunes  sha'na  steer  thee.' 
Steeve,  compact :  '  a  filly,  buirdiy,  steeve,  an' 

swank.' 
Stell,  a  still. 
Sten,  a  leap,  a  spring:  'foaming,  Strang,  wi' 

hasty  stens,' '  my  heart  to  my  mou  gied  a 

sten.' 
Stent,  sprang :  '  thou  never  lap  an'  sten't  an' 

breastit.' 
Stented,  erected,  set  on  high :  '  my  watchman 

stented.' 
Stents,  assessments,  dues :  '  an*  a'  his  stents,* 

'  how  cesses,  stents,  and  fees  were  rax'd.' 
Steyest,  steepest :  '  !he  steyest  brae  thou  wad 

hae  fac't  it.' 
Stibble,  stubble. 

Stibble-rig,  chief  harvester  [with  the  hook]. 
Stick-an-stowe,    completely :    '  ruin'd    stick- 

an'-stowe.' 
Stilt,  limp  [with   the  aid  of  stilts]  :  '  hilch 

an'  stilt,  an'  jump.' 
Stimpart,  a  quarter  peck. 
Stirk,  a  young  bullock  or  heifer  [after  one 

year  old]. 
Stock,  a  plant  of  cabbage  or  colewort. 
Stoited,  stumbled :  '  down  George's  Street  I 

stoited.' 


♦M 


GLOSSARY. 


Stoiter'd,  staggered :  '  stoiter'd  up '  =  strug- 
gled up. 
Stoor,  (i)  harsh  [in  sound]  :    '  an  eldritch, 

stoor  "  quaick,  quaick  "  ' ;   (2)  stern :    '  a 

carlin  stoor  and  grim.' 
Stoun ,  stound. 

Stoure,  dust  [literal  and  figurative]. 
Stourie,  dusty. 
Stown,  stolen. 
Stownlins,  by  stealth : '  Rob,  stownlins,  prie'd 

her  bonie  mou,*  'an'  stow'nlins  we  sail 

meet  again.' 
Stoyte,   to   stagger :    '  let  her   snapper  and 

stoyte  on  her  way.' 
Strae  death,  death  in  bed  \i,e.  on  straw]. 
Straik,  to  stroke. 
Strak,  5truck, 
Strang,  strong. 
Str aught,  straight. 
Str aught,   to  stretch:    'will  straught  on  a 

board.' 
Streekit,  stretched :  '  ance  ye  were  streekit 

owre  frae  bank  to  bank,'  '  streekit  out  to 

bleach.' 
Striddle,\o  ^\.xaAdXQ'.  '  striddle  owre  a  rig.' 
Str  on' t,  lanted. 
Strunt,  liquor :  '  a  social  glass  o*  strunt,'  '  a 

dram  o'  guid  strunt.* 
Strunt,  to  swagger :  '  ye  strunt  rarely.' 
Studdie,   an   anvil :   '  till   block  an'  studdie 

ring  an'  reel,'  '  come  o'er  his  studdie.' 
Stumpie,   dim.    of    stump,    a   worn    quill : 

'  doun  gaed  stumpie  in  the  ink.' 
Sturt,  worry,  trouble  :  '  sturt  and  strife,' 
Sturt,  to  fret,  to  vex :  '  ay  the  less  they  hae 

to  sturt  them.' 
Sturtin,  frighted,  staggered:    'tho'  he  was 

something  sturtin.' 
Styme,    the    faintest    outline:    *or    see    a 

styme.' 
Sucker,  sugar :  '  gusty  sucker.* 
Sud,  should. 
Sugh,  sough,  (i)  sigh:  'sough  for  sough*; 

(2)  moan:  'wi' waving  sugh';   (3)  wail. 

'  wi'  angry  sugh  ' ;   (4)  swish :  '  the  clang- 
ing sugh  of  whistling  wings.' 
Sumph,  a  churl :  '  ye  surly  sumphs.' 
Sune,  soon. 

Suthron,  Southern  \i.e.  English]. 
Swaird,  the  sword. 
SwalVd,  swelled. 
Swank,  limber ;  '  steeve,  an'  swank.* 


Swankies,     strapping    fellows :     '  swankies 

young.' 
Swap,  exchange :  '  a  swap  o'  rhymin-ware,* 

'  the  swap  we  yet  will  do  't.' 
Swapped,  swopped,  exchanged : '  we  swapped 

for  the  worse.' 
Swarf,  to  swoon :  '  amaist  did  swarf,  man.' 
Swat,  sweated. 
Swatch,  a  sample :   '  a  chosen   swatch,'  '  a 

swatch  o'  Hornbook's  way,'  '  a  swatch  o' 

Manson's  barrels.' 
Swats,  new  ale :  '  reaming  swats,  that  drank 

divinely,'  '  the  swats  sae  ream'd  in  Tam- 

mie's  noddle.' 
Sweer,  v.  Dead-sweer. 
Swirl,  a.  curl ;  '  hung  owre  his  hurdles  wi'  a 

swirl.' 
Swirlie,  twisted,  knaggy:   'a  swirlie,  auld 

moss-oak.' 
Swith,   (i)    haste,   off  and    away:    'then 

swith  !  an'  get  a  wife  to  hug,' '  swith  !  in 

some  beggar's  hauffet  squattle,' '  swith  to 

the  Laigh  Kirk,' '  swith  awa.' 
Swither,   doubt,   hesitation :    '  a   hank'ring 

swither,"  '  an   eerie  swither,'  '  I  've  little 

swither.' 
Swoom,  swim. 
Swoor,  swore. 

Sybow,  a  young  onion :  '  a  sybow-tail.* 
Syne,  since,  then. 

Tack,  possession,  lease :  '  stand  as  tightly  by 
your  tack,'  '  or  Poland,  wha  had  now  the 
tack  o  't,'  'a  tack  o'  seven  times  seven.' 

Tacket,  shoe  nail :  '  wad  haud  the  Lothians 
three  in  tackets.' 

Tae,  to. 

Tae,  toe. 

Tae'd,  toed :  '  a  three-tae'd  leister.* 

Taed,  toad :  '  sprawlin  like  a  taed.' 

Taen,  taken. 

Tairge,  to  target  [with  importunities] :  '  I 
on  the  Questions  tairge  them  tightly.' 

Tak,  to  take. 

Tald,  told. 

Tane,  one  in  contrast  to  other :  '  the  tane  is 
game,' '  the  heat  o'  the  tane.' 

Tangs,  tongs. 

Tap,  top. 

Tapetless,  pithless : '  the  tapetless,  ramfeezl'd 
hizzie.' 

Tapfnost,  topmost. 


GLOSSARY. 


415 


I'appet-hen,  a  crested  hen-shaped  bottle 
holding  three  quarts  of  claret :  '  the  tap- 
pet hen,  gae  bring  her  ben.' 

Tap-pickle,  the  grain  at  the  top  of  'he  stalk : 
*  her  tap-pickle  maist  was  lost.' 

Tapsaltceric,  topsy-turvy. 

Tarrow,  to  tarry  [the  original  sense  in 
Henryson  and  the  older  writers,  a  sec- 
ondary sense  being  to  haggle],  to  be 
reluctant,  to  murmur:  '  that  yet  hae  tar- 
row't  at  it';  (2)  to  weary:  'if  you  on 
your  station  tarrovv.' 

Tassie,  a  goblet :  '  the  silver  tassie.* 

Tank,  talk. 

Tauld,  told. 

Taioie,  tractable :  '  hamely,  tawie,  quiet,  an' 
cannie.' 

Taitpie,  a  foolish  woman :  '  gawkies,  taw- 
pies,  gowks,  and  fools.' 

Taivtc'd,  matted  [/.^.  hanging  with  matted 
tawis  or  teats]  :  '  nae  tawted  tyke,'  '  wi' 
tawted  ket,' 

Teats,  small  quantities  :  '  wi'  teats  o'  hay.' 

Tee?i,  vexation  [common  in  Shakespeare, 
e.g:  '  of  sorrow  and  of  teen,'  Love's  La- 
bour's Lost,  iv.  3.  164] :  '  spite  and  teen.' 

TelVd,  told. 

Temper-pin,  (i)  a  fiddle-peg:  'screw  your 
temper-pins';  (2)  the  regulating  pin  of 
the  spinning-wheel:  'and  ay  she  shook 
the  temper-pin.' 

Tent,  heed :  '  tak  [or  took]  tent  *  =  take 
[or  took]  care. 

Tent,  to  tend,  to  heed,  to  observe  [very 
frequent] . 

Tentie,  (i)  watchful:  'wi'  tentie  e'e,'  '  wi' 
tentie  care  ' ;  (2)  careful :  '  wi'  joy  the 
tentie  seedsman  stalks';  (3)  heedful: 
'  some  tentie  rin.' 

Tentier,  more  watchful :   '  a  tentier  way.' 

Tentless,  careless  :  '  tentless  heed.' 

Tester  [Old  Fr.  Test,  a  head],  an  old  Scots 
silver  coin  about  sixpence  in  value:  'till 
she  has  scarce  a  tester.'  Cf. '  Hold,  here  's 
a  tester  for  thee,'  Shak.,  2  Henry  IV.,  iii. 
2.  296. 

Teugh,  tough. 

Teuk,  took. 

Thack,  thatch  :  '  thack  and  rape '  =  the 
covering  of  a  house,  and  therefore  used 
as  a  simile  for  home  necessities;  'thack 
and  rape '  [of  a  corn-stack]. 


Thae,  those. 

Thairm,  (i)  small  guts:  'painch,  tripe,  or 
thairm';     (2)    catgut    [a    fiddle-string]: 

•  thairm-inspiring,'  '  o'er   the    thairms  be 
tryin,'  '  kittle  hair  on  thairms.' 

Theckit,  thatched  :  '  an'  theckit  right.' 

Thegither,  together. 

Themsel,  themsels,  themselves. 

Thick,  V.  Pack  an'  thick. 

Thieveless,  forbidding,  spiteful :  '  thieveless 
sneer.' 

T^"ggin,  begging:  'come  thiggin  at  your 
doors  an'  yetts.' 

Thir,  these. 

Thirl' d,  thrilled:  'it  thirl'd  the  heart- 
strings.' 

Thole,  to  endure,  to  suffer :  '  thole  a  factor's 
snash,'  '  thole  the  winter's  sleety  dribble,' 
'  thole  their  blethers,' '  thole  their  mither's 
ban,'  '  the  scathe  and  banter  We  're 
forced  to  thole.* 

Thou  'se,  thou  shalt. 

Thowe,  thaw. 

Thowless,  lazy,  useless :  ' "  Conscience," 
says  I,  "  ye  thowless  jad."  ' 

Thrang,  (i)  busy:  '  that  were  na  thrang  at 
hame,'  '  aiblins  thrang  a  parliamentin,' 
'  thrang  winkin  on  the  lasses  ' ;  (2)  throng- 
ing in  crowds,  '  the  lasses,  skelpin  barefit, 
thrang,'  'thick  an'  thrang';  (3)  busily: 
'  complimented  thrang ' ;  (4)  at  work : 
'  are  whistling  thrang.' 

Thrang,  (i)  a  throng,  a  crowd:  '  afT  the 
godly  pour  in  thrangs';  (2)  a  company: 
'  the  jovial  thrang.' 

Thrapple,  the  windpipe:  'see  now  she 
fetches  at  the  thrapple,'  'as  murder  at 
his  thrapple  shor'd.' 

Thrave,  twenty-four  sheaves  of  corn :  '  a 
daimen  icker  in  a  thrave.' 

Thraw,  a  twist :  '  she  turns  the  key  wi'  can- 
nie thraw.' 

Thraiit,  (i)  to  twist,  to  turn:  'for  thrawin' 
=  against  twisting  or  bending;  'great 
Mackinlay  thrawn  his  heel,' '  thraw  saugh 
woodies,' *  did  our  hellim  thraw';  (2)  to 
thwart:  'the  German  chief  to  thraw, 
man,' '  did  his  measures  thraw,'  'a  mortal 
sin  to  thraw  that.* 

Thraws,  ihrots:  '  ease  the  thraws.* 

Threap,    maintain     [with     asseverations]  : 

•  wad  threap  auld  folk  the  thing  misteuk.' 


4i6 


GLOSSARY. 


Threesome,  v.  Foursome. 

Thretteen,  thirteen. 

Thretty,  thirty. 

Thrissle,  thistle. 

Thristed,  thirsted. 

Through  :  *  male  to  through '  =  make  good. 

Throu'ther  [through  other],  pell-mell:  '  cry 
a'  throu'ther.' 

Thummart,  polecat. 

Thy  lane,  alone :  '  no  thy  lane,  In  proving 
foresight  may  be  vain.' 

Tight,  girt,  prepared :  '  he  should  been  tight 
that  daur't  to  raize  thee.' 

Till,  to. 

Tiirt,  to  it. 

Timmer,  (i)  timber  [common]  ;  (2)  ma- 
terial [as  also  timber  in  English],  'the 
timmer  is  scant,  when  ye  're  taen  for  a 
saunt '  =  the  saintly  material  is  scant 
when  you  are  taken  for  one.  [Some 
wisacres  affirm  the  meaning  to  be  the 
wood  (for  the  gallows)  is  scant:  but 
(i)  if  this  were  the  meaning  the  article 
'  the '  would  be  superfluous ;  (2)  it  is 
absurd  to  suppose  that  there  was  then 
not  wood  enough  to  erect  a  gallows; 
(3)  wood  was  less  essential  than  a  rope, 
and  (4)  '  material '  is  quite  a  common 
meaning  of '  timmer.'] 

Tine,  to  lose,  to  be  lost  [frequent]. 

Tinkler,  a  tinker. 

Ti7it,  lost  [very  frequent]:  'tint  as  win'  = 
lost  as  soon  as  won. 

Tippence,  twopence. 

Tippenjiy,  two-penny  ale :  '  wi'  tippenny  we 
fear  nae  evil.' 

Tirl,  to  strip :  '  tirlin  the  kirks,'  '  tirl  the 
bullions  to  the  birses.' 

Tirl,  to  knock  for  entrance :  '  tirl'd  at  your 
door,"  '  tirl'd  at  the  pin.' 

Tither,  the  other  [very  frequent]. 

Tittlin,  whispering :  '  a  raw  o'  tittlin  jads.* 

Tocher,  dowry. 

Tocher,  to  give  a  dowry. 

Tod,  the  fox. 

fo-fa',  the  fall:  '  to-fa'  o'  the  night.' 

Tootn,  empty. 

J'oop,  a  tup. 

Toss,  the  toast :  '  the  toss  of  Ecclefechan.' 

Tousie,  shaggy :  '  his  tousie  back,' '  a  tousie 
tyke.' 

Tow,  flax,  a  rope. 


Towmond,  towmont,  a  twelve-month. 
Towsing,  rumpling  [equivocal]  :  '  towsing  a 

lass  i'  my  daffin.'     Cf.  '  Damn  me  if  he 

sha't  have  the  tousling  of  her,'  Fielding, 

Tom  "Jones. 
Tiy//^, to  totter :  'toyte  about  wi'ane  anither.' 
Tozie,  flushed  with  drink  :  '  the  tozie  drab.' 
Tratns,  shafts  [of  a  barrow  or  cart]  :  '  baith 

the  trams  are  broken.' 
Trashtrie,  small  trash  :  '  sauce,  ragouts,  an' 

sic  like  trashtrie.' 
Trews,  trousers :   '  skyrin  tartan  trews.'    V. 

Trouse. 
Trig,  neat,  trim :  '  the  lads  sae  trig,'  '  and 

trig  an'  braw,'  '  he  sae  trig  lap  o'er  the 

rig,'  '  Willie's  wife  is  nae  sae  trig.' 
Trin'le,  the  wheel  of  a  barrow. 
Troggin,  wares  :  '  buy  braw  troggin.' 
Troke,  to  barter :  '  wi'  you  nae  friendship  I 

will  troke.' 
Trouse,  trousers :  '  will  be  him  trouse  and 

doublet.' 
Trowth,  In  truth. 
Tryste,  a  fair,  a  cattle-market :   '  to  trystes 

an'  fairs  to  driddle,'  '  the  tryste  o'  Dalgar- 

nock,'  '  he  gaed  wi'  Jeanie  to  the  tryste.' 
Trysted,    appointed,    agreed    upon :     '  the 

trysted  hour.' 
Try  sting,  Ti\&€(\ng\  '  trystin  time,'  *  trysting 

thorn.' 
Tulyie,  tulzie,  a  squabble,  a  tussle :   '  The 

Holy  Tulyie,'  '  in  logic  tulzie,' '  amid  this 

mighty  tulyie,'  '  the  tulyie  's  teugh  'tween 

Pitt  and  Fox.' 
Twa,  two. 
Twafauld,   two-fold,  double :    '  he    hirples 

twa-fauld.' 
Ttual,  twelve  ;  the  twal  =  twelve  at  night. 
Twalpennie  worth  =  a  penny  worth   [ster- 
ling] . 
Twang,  a  twinge. 
Twa-three ,  two  or  three. 
Tway,  two  :  '  ne'er  a  ane  but  tway.' 
Twin,  also   Twine,  to  rob :    '  twins  .  .  .  o' 

half  his  days,'  '  may  twin  auld  Scotland 

o'  a  life,'  '  has  twined  ye  o'  your  stately 

trees.' 
Twistle,  a   twist,    a    sprain :   '  the    Lord's 

cause  gat  na  sic  a  twistle.' 
Tyke,  a  dog. 
Tyfie,  to  tine. 
Tysday,  Tuesday. 


GLOSSARY. 


417 


VIzie,  oil:  'wi'  pouther  and  wi'  ulzie.' 

I  'nchancy,  dangergus  :  '  an"  mair  unchancy.' 
See  { ( 'anchancie. 

Unco,  (i)  remarkably,  uncommonly :  '  unco 
pack  an'  thick,'  '  unco  happy,'  '  unco 
wee!';  (2)  excessively,  mightily  [sar- 
castic] :  'Address  to  the  Unco  Guid.' 

Unco,  (i)  remarkable,  uncommon:  'an 
unco  calf;  (2)  terrible  [sarcastic]:  'an 
unco  loun  ' ;   (3)  strange  :  '  unco  folk.' 

Uncos,  news,  strange  things,  wonders :  '  each 
tells  the  uncos  that  he  sees  or  hears.* 

Unkend,  unknown, 

Un sicker,  uncertain :  '  feeble,  and  unsicker.' 

Unskaithed,  unhurt. 

Usquabae,  usquebae,  whisky. 

I'aiintie,  proud:  'and  she  was  vauntie,' 
'  vauntie  o'  my  hap,*  '  your  letter  made 
me  vauntie.' 

Vera,  very. 

I'irls,  rings  :  '  virls  and  whirly-gigums.' 

Vittle  [victual],  (i)  grain:  'a'  the  vittel  in 
the  yard ' ;  (2)  food :  '  a'  my  winter  vit- 
tle.' 

Vogie,  vain :  '  and  vow  but  I  was  vogie.' 

Wa' ,  waw,  a  wall. 

IVab,  a  web. 

li'absfer,  a  weaver. 

Wad,  to  wager:  '  I  'II  wad  my  new  pleugh- 

pettle,' '  I  '11  wad  a  groat,''  wad  a  boddle.' 
Wad,  to  wed :  '  and  or  I  wad  another  jad.' 
li'ad,  would,  would  have. 
Wad' a,  would  have. 
Wadna,  would  not. 

Wadset,  a  mortgage :  '  here  *s  a  little  wadset.* 
Wae,  woful,  sorrowful  [also  sarcastic], 
Wae,  woe  :    '  wae  's   me  '  =  woe   is  to  me. 

Cf.  '  I  am  woe  for  it,  sir,'  Shakespeare, 

Tempest,  v.  i.  139. 
Waesucks,  alas  1  '  waesucks !   for  him  that 

gets  nae  lass.' 
Wae  xoorth,  woe  befall. 
Wair,  V,  Ware. 
Wale,  to  choose. 
Wale,  choice. 
Walie,  2ua7vlie,  choice,  ample,  large :  '  walie 

nieve,"  '  walie  nieves,'  'this  walie  boy,'  'ae 

winsome  wench  and  wawlie,' 
Wallop,  (i)  to  kick,  to  dangle:  '  may  Envy 

wallop  in  a  tether,'  '  wallop  in  a  tow ' ; 
2£ 


(2)  to  gallop,  to  dance :  '  walloped  about 

the  reel,' 
Wa/v/a'  =  illbefalL 
Wame,  the  belly. 
Watne/ou,  bellyful. 
Wan,  won. 
l]'anc/iancie,   dangerous:    'that  vile  wan- 

chancie  thing  —  a  rape,'     See  Unchancie. 
Wanrestfu  ,  restless:  '  wanrestfu'  pets.' 
Ware,  wair,  to  spend,  bestow:   'and  ken 

na  how  to  ware 't,'  '  to  ware  his  theologic 

care  on,'  '  tho'  wair'd  on  Willie  Chalm- 
ers.' 
Ware,  worn :  '  gratefully  be  ware,' 
Wark,  work, 
Wark-lume,  v,  Lume. 
WarV,  warld,  world. 
Warlock,  a  wizard. 
Warl'y,  war  Idly,  worldly. 
Warran,  warrant. 
Worse,  worse. 
Warsle,  wars  tie,  wrestle. 
Was  na,  was  not. 
Wast,  west. 
Wastrie,  waste. 
Wat,  wet. 
Wat,  wot,  know. 

Water-Jit,  water-foot  [the  river's  mouth]. 
Water-kelpies,  v.  Kelpies. 
Wauble,  to  wobble :  '  ran  them  a'  till  they 

did  wauble.' 
Waught,  a  draught :    '  a  right  guid-willie 

waught.' 
Wauk,  to  awake. 
Wauken,  to  waken. 
Waukin,  awake. 
Waukit   [with    toil],  homy:    'my    waukit 

loof." 
Waukri/e,   wakeful:    'till  waukrife  morn,' 

'  waukrife  winkers,' 
Waur,  worse, 
Waur,  to  worst:  '  and  faith,  he  '11  waur  me,' 

'  waur  them  a',' 
Waur't,  worsted,  beat  [in  running]  :  '  might 

aiblins  waur't  thee  for  a  brattle,' 
Wean  [wee  one],  a  child. 
Weanies,  babies :  '  when  skirlin  weanies  see 

the  light,' 
Weason,  weasand. 
WecAt,  a  measure  for  com :  '  three  wechts 

o'  naething,' 
Wee,  a  little ;  a  wee,  a  short  space,  or  time. 


4i8 


GLOSSARY. 


Wee  things,  children. 

Weel,  well. 

Well-faured,  well-favoured. 

Wetl-gaim,  well-going. 

Weel-hain'd,  well-saved  :    '  her  weel-hain'd 

kebbuck,'  '  weel-hain'd  gear.' 
Weepers,  mournings  [on  the  sleeve,  or  hat] : 

'  auld  cantie  Kyle  may  weepers  wear.* 
Weretia,  were  not. 
We  'se,  we  shall. 
Westlin,  western. 
Wha,  who, 

Whaizle,  wheeze :  '  and  gar't  them  whaizle.' 
Whalpet,  whelped. 
Wham,  whom. 
Whan,  when. 
Whang,  a  shive,  a  large  slice :  '  in  monie  a 

whang.' 
Whang,  flog :  '  and  gloriously  she  '11  whang 

her.' 
Whar,  whare,  where. 
Wha's,  whose. 
Wha 's,  who  is. 
Whase,  whose. 
What  for,  what/ore,  wherefore :  *  What  for 

no  ?  '  =  Why  not  ? 
Whatna,  what  [partly  in  contempt]  : '  whatn^ 

day  o'  whatna  style.' 
What  reck,  what  matter,  nevertheless :  '  but 

yet,  what  reck,  he  at  Quebec,'  'when  I, 

whatreck,  did  least  expeck.' 
Whatt,  whittled. 
Whaup,  the  curlew. 
Whaur,  where. 
Wheep,  V.  Pently-wheep. 
Wheep,  jerk :  '  to  see  our  elbucks  wheep.* 
Whid,  a  fib :  'a  rousing  whid  at  times  to 

vend.' 
Whiddin,  scudding  :  '  an*  morning  poussie 

whiddin     seen,'    '  ye    maukins     whiddin 
.  through  the  glade.* 
Whids,  gambols :  '  jinkin  hares,  in  amorous 

whids.' 
Whigmeleeries ,   crotchets  :   '  whigmeleeries 

in  your  noddle,' 
Whlngin,     whining:     '  if     onie     whiggish 

whingin  sot.' 
Whins,  furze :  '  thro'  the  whins  an*  [and]  by 

the  cairn.' 
Whirlygigums,  flourishes. 
Whisht,  silence :  '  held  my  whisht '  =  kept 

silence. 


Whissle,  whistle. 

W hitter,  a  draught:  'tak  our  whitter,* 

Whittle,  a  knife. 

Wi' ,  with. 

Wick,  '  wick  a  bore.' 

Wi 's,  with  his. 

Wi  't,  with  it. 

Widdifii',  gallows-worthy;  'a  widdifu', 
bleerit  knurl.' 

Widdle,  wriggle  :  '  the  weary  widdle.* 

Wiel,  eddy :  '  whyles  in  a  wiel  it  dimpl't.' 

Wight,  strong,  stout :  '  wight  an'  wilfu', 
'wight  and  stark.' 

Wighter,  more  influential. 

Willcat,  wild  cat. 

Willyart,  disordered :  '  willyart  glow'r.' 

Wi?nple,  to  meander. 

Win,  won :  '  like  fortune's  favours,  tint  as 
win  '  =  lost  as  soon  as  won, 

Winn,  to  winnow :  '  to  winn  three  wechts  o' 
naething.' 

Winna,  will  not. 

Winnin,  winding :  '  the  warpin  o  't,  the 
winnin  o  't.' 

Winnock,  window. 

Winnock-bunker,  v.  Bunker, 

Win't,  did  wind :  '  an'  ay  she  win't.* 

Wintle,  a  somersault :  '  tumbled  wi'  a 
wintle.' 

Wintle,  (i)  to  stagger:  'wintle  like  a 
saumont-cobble ' ;  (2)  to  swing,  to  wrig- 
gle :  '  wintle  in  a  woodie,' '  that  wintles  in 
a  halter.' 

Winze,  a  curse :  '  loot  a  winze.' 

Wiss,  wish. 

Won,  to  dwell :  '  there  was  a  wife  wonn'd 
in  Cockpen,'  'there  wons  auld  Colin's 
bonie  lass,' '  Auld  Rob  Morris  that  wons 
in  yon  glen.'  Cf,  '  The  wild  beast,  where 
he  wons,'  Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  vii.  457. 

Wonner,  a  wonder,  a  marvel :  *  blastit  won- 
ner.* 

Woo',  wool. 

Woodie,  woody,  a  rope  [originally  of 
withes] :  (i)  '  the  meikle  Devil  wi'  a 
woodie ' ;  (2)  a  gallows  rope  :  '  wintle  in 
a  woodie';  (3)  the  gallows:  'the  waefu' 
woodie,*  '  learning  in  a  woody  dance.' 

Woodies,  twigs,  withes :  '  saugh  woodies.* 

Wooer-babs,  love-knots. 

Wordy,  worthy :  *  wordy  of  a  grace,'  '  a 
wordy  beast.' 


GLOSSARY. 


419 


IVorset,  worsted:    'her   braw,  new   worset 

apron.' 
Wor/A,  V.  IVag  worth. 
W'raug,  wrong. 
Wud,  wild,  mad  :  '  as  wud  as  wud  can  be,' 

'  like    onie   wud    bear.'      See   also    Rcd- 

wud. 
Wnmble,  wimble:  'gleg  as  onie  wumble.' 
V\'yliecoaf,  undervest. 

Wyte  [weight],  blame:  '  Had  I  the  wyte?  ' 
V\')'te,  to  blame,  to  reproach. 

Yard,  a.  garden,  a  stackyard. 
'i'a/id,  an  old  mare  :  '  the  auld  grey  yaud.' 
Yealitigs,  coevals. 

Yell,  dry  [milkless] :  '  as  yell 's  the  bill.' 
Yerd,  earth  :  '  their  green  beds  in  the  yerd.' 
See  Yird. 


K^r -4/7,  jerked  :  '  yerkit  up  sublime.' 

Yerl,  Earl. 

Ye'se,  ye  shall. 

Yestreen,  last  night. 

Yett,  a  gate. 

Yeuk,  to  itch :  '  If  Warren  Hastings'  neck 
was  yeukin,'  'yeuks  wi'  joy.' 

Yill,  ale. 

Yill-caup,  ale-stoup.     See  Caup. 

Yird,  yearth,  earth  ;  v.  Yerd. 

Yokin,  yoking;  (i)  a  spell,  a  day's  work: 
'  a  yokin  at  the  pleugh  ' ;  (2)  a  set  to  :  'a 
hearty  yokin  at  "  sang  about."  ' 

Yon,  yonder. 

'  Yo7it,  beyond. 

Yowe,  ewe. 

Yowie,  dim.  of  ewe;  a  pet  ewe. 

Yule,  Christmas. 


CHRONOLOGICAL    INDEX. 


THE  POEMS  ARRANGED   ACCORDING   {circa)   TO  THEIR  DATES. 

^The  dates  in  the  following  index  are  those  given  in  the  Chambers'  edition,  with  some  of  the  titles 
changed  to  correspond  with  those  in  the  present  edition.] 


Juvenile. 

0  Once  I  lov'd  a  Bonie  Lass,  295. 

1  dream'd  I  lay,  227. 

Tibbie,  I  hae  seen  the  day,  234. 

All  villain  as  I  am,  a  damndd  wretch,  201. 

A  Ruined  Farmer.  — '  It 's  O,  fickle  Fortune, 

0 1 '  329. 
The  Tarbolton  Lasses,  188. 
The  Ronalds  of  the  Bennals,  189. 
Ah,  Woe  is  me,  my  Mother  dear !  191. 
Montgomerie's  Peggy,  350. 
The  Ploughman's  Life,  358. 
The  Lass  of  Cessnock  Banks,  330. 
Winter:  a  Dirge,  44. 
A   Prayer,  written  under  the   Pressure   of 

Violent  Anguish,  81. 

1782-84. — ^t.  23-25. 

My  Father  was  a  Farmer,  332. 

The    Death   and    Dying   Words   of    Poor 

Mailie,  the  Author's  only  Pet  Yowe,  15. 
Poor  Mailie's  Elegy,  16. 
John  Barleycorn  —  A  Ballad,  85. 
Mary  Morison,  329. 
Bonie  Peggy  Alison,  233. 
The  Rigs  o'  Barley,  60. 
Song,  '  Composed  in  August,'  61. 
My  Nanie,  O,  87. 
Of  all  the  numerous  ills  that  hurt  our  peace, 

201. 
O  ye  whose  cheek  the  tear  of  pity  stains,  64. 
O  why  the  deuce  should  I  repine,  190. 
O  leave  novels,  ye  Mauchline  belles,  333. 


A  Prayer  in  the  Prospect  of  Death,  45. 

Stanzas,  on  the  same  Occasion,  80. 

Paraphrase  of  the  First  Psalm,  81. 

The  Ninetieth  Psalm  Versified,  82. 

To  John  Rankine  when  the  Poet  was  in 

Trouble,  136, 
Epistle  to  John  Rankine,  59. 
A  Poet's  Welcome  to   his   Love-begotten 

Daughter,  123. 
Green  grow  the  rashes,  88. 
No  churchman  am  I,  89. 
Tho'  cruel  fate  should  bid  us  part,  225. 
One  night  as  I  did  wander,  334. 
There  was  a  Lad,  334. 
Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Robert  Ruisseaiix, 

192. 
The  Belles  of  Mauchline,  190. 
When  first  I  came  to  Stewart  Kyle,  334. 
Though  fickle  Fortune  has  deceived  me, 

332. 
O  raging  Fortune's  withering  blast,  332. 
Epistle  to  Davie,  a  Brother  Poet,  38. 

1785.— iEt.  26. 

Death  and  Dr.  Hornbook,  65. 

Epistle  to  J.  Lapraik,  52. 

Second  Epistle  to  J.  Lapraik,  54. 

Epistle  to  John  Goldie,  in  Kilmarnock,  137. 

The  Twa  Herds  ;  or.  The  Holy  Tulyie,  117, 

Epistle  to  William  Simpson,  56. 

Holy  Willie's  Prayer,  119. 

Epitaph  on  Holy  Willie,  215. 

Third  Epistle  to  J.  Lapraik,  138. 

To  the  Rev.  John  M'Math,  139. 


421 


422 


CHRONOLOGICAL  INDEX. 


To  a  Mouse,  37. 
Second  Epistle  to  Davie,  140. 
The  Braes  of  Ballochmyle,  247. 
Man  was  made  to  mourn,  43. 
Address  to  the  Deil,  13. 
The  Jolly  Beggars,  iii. 
For  a'  that  an'  a'  that,  115. 
O  Merry  hae  I  been,  246. 
A  Mauchline  Wedding,  125. 

1785-86.  —  ^t.  26-27. 

Halloween,  28. 

The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  33. 

Epitaph  on  John  Dove,  216. 

Adam  Armour's  Prayer,  126. 

Epistle  to  James  Smith,  17. 

The  Vision,  22. 

A  Winter  Night,  78. 

Young  Peggy,  221. 

Scotch  Drink,  4. 

The  Author's  Earnest  Cry  and  Prayer,  7. 

The  Holy  Fair,  10. 

1786.  —  ^t.  27. 

The  Auld  Farmer's  New-year  Morning 
Salutation  to  his  Auld  Mare,  Maggie,  31. 

The  Twa  Dogs,  i. 

To  a  Louse,  51. 

The  Ordination,  73. 

Address  to  the  Unco  Quid,  or  the  Rigidly 
Righteous,  75. 

The  Inventory,  124. 

To  John  Kennedy,  141. 

Thou  flatt'ring  mark  of  friendship  kind,  191. 

To  a  Mountain  Daisy,  45. 

The  Lament.  Occasioned  by  the  unfortu- 
nate issue  of  a  friend's  amour,  40. 

Despondency,  42. 

To  Ruin,  46, 

Song,  Composed  in  Spring,  88. 

To  Gavin  Hamilton,  Esq.,  Mauchline,  142. 

Epistle  to  a  Young  Friend,  47. 

Sweet  Afton,  271. 

My  Highland  Lassie,  O,  224. 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary  ?  335. 

Farewell  to  Eliza,  62. 

Address  of  Beelzebub,  169. 

A  Dream,  20. 

On  a  Scotch  Bard,  gone  to  the  West  In- 
dies, 48. 


A  Bard's  Epitaph,  64. 

A  Dedication  to  Gavin  Hamilton,  Esq.,  49. 

The   Farewell.     To    the    Brethren    of   St. 

James's  Lodge,  Tarbolton,  62. 
Ye  sons  of  old  KiUie,  336. 
The  lass  o'  Ballochmyle,  335. 
Farewell,  dear  Friend !  may  gude  luck  hit 

you,  143. 
Extempore    Epistle    to    Gavin    Hamilton, 

Esq.,  145. 
The  Farewell,  62. 
Lines  written  on  a  Bank-note,  191. 
Written  on  a  Blank  Leaf  of  a  Copy  of  his 

'  Poems,'  144. 
The  Calf,  75. 
Nature's  Law,  128. 

To  Willie  Chalmers'  Sweetheart,  144. 
Reply  to  an  Epistle  received  from  a  Tailor, 

146. 
Tam  Samson's  Elegy,  76. 
Tam  Samson's  Epitaph,  78. 
To  Mr.  M'Adam,  of  Craigen-Gillan,  142. 
O  Thou  Dread  Power,  80. 
The  night  was  still,  and  o'er  the  hill,  336. 
The  Gloomy  Night  is  gath'ring  fast,  89. 
The  Brigs  of  Ayr,  68. 
Verses  on  Meeting  with  Lord  Daer,  129. 
Epistle  to  Major  Logan,  147. 
Rusticity's  ungainly  form,  202. 
Address  to  Edinburgh,  83. 
To  a  Haggis,  83. 

1787.  —  ^t.  28. 

To  Miss  Logan,  82. 

To    Mrs.  Scott,   Guidwife    of   Wauchope 

House,  Roxburghshire,  148. 
Description  of  William  Smellie,  202. 
Rattlin,  roarin  Willie,  234. 
At  Roslin  Inn,  204. 

Inscription  for  the  Tomb  of  Fergusson,  216. 
Verses  under  the    Portrait  of   Fergusson, 

190. 
Verses  intended  to  be  written  below  a  noble 

Earl's  Picture,  192. 
When  Guilford  good  our  Pilot  stood,  86. 
Extempore  in  the  Court  of  Session,  204. 
There  was  a  lad  was  born  in  Kyle,  334. 
Prologue   spoken  by   Mr.   Woods  on  his 

Benefit  Night,  164. 
Address  to  William  Tytler,  Esq.,  149. 
Fair  maid,  you  need  not  take  the  hint,  149. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  INDEX. 


423 


Symon  Gray,  151. 

Your  billet,  sir,  I  grant  receipt,  150. 

At  Inveraray,  205. 

A  Highland  Welcome,  206. 

On  reading  in  a  Newspaper  the  Death  of 

John  M'Leod,  Esq.,  105. 
The  crimson  blossom  charms  the  bee,  150. 
On  the  Death  of  Sir  James  Hunter  Blair, 

193- 
To  Miss  Ferrier,  151. 
Verse  written  on  a  Window  of  the  Inn  at 

Falkirk,  358. 
Verses  written  on  a  Window  of  the  Inn  at 

Carron,  206. 
Lines  written  at  Stirling,  206. 
Verses  written  '  with   my  Pencil  over  the 

Chimney-piece  in  the  Parlour  of  the  Inn 

at  Kenmore,  at  the  Outlet  of  Loch  Tay,* 

107. 
The  Birks  of  Aberfeldie,  223. 
The  Humble  Petition  of  Bruar  Water  to 

the  noble  Duke  of  Athole,  105. 
Verses  written  with  a  Pencil,  standing  by 

the  Fall  of  Fyers,  near  Loch-Ness,  108. 
Castle  Gordon,  132. 
The  Bonie  Lass  of  Albanie  [possibly  1788] , 

338- 
On  Scaring    some  Water-fowl    in    Loch- 

Turit,  107. 
Blythe  was  she,  231. 
A  rose-bud,  by  my  early  walk,  233. 
To  Miss  Cruickshank,  a  very  Young  Lady, 

104. 
Where,  braving  angry  winter's  storms,  234. 
My  Peggy's  face,  my  Peggy's  form,  291. 
The  banks  of  the  Devon,  229. 
On  the  Death  of  Lord  President  Dundas, 

194. 
When  dear  Clarinda,  matchless  fair,  152. 

1788.  — ^t.  29. 

On  Mr.  Elphinstone's  Translation  of  Mar- 
tial, 205. 
A  Farewell  to  Clarinda,  235. 
Whistle,  an'  I  '11  come  to  ye,  my  lad,  222. 
M'Pherson's  Farewell,  224. 
Stay,  my  charmer,  can  you  leave  me  ?  225. 
Strathallan's  Lament,  225. 
The  Young  Highland  Rover,  227. 
Raving  winds  around  her  blowing,  230. 
Musing  on  the  roaring  ocean,  231. 


To  Clarinda,  with  a  Pair  of  Drinking-glasses, 

152. 
The  Chevalier's  Lament,  338. 
Epistle  to  Hugh  Parker,  153. 
Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw,  242. 
O,  were  I  on  Parnassus  hill,  243. 
Written  in  Friars  Carse  Hermitage,  91. 
To  Mr,  Alexander  Cunningham,  153. 
Epistle  to  Robert  Graham,  Esq.,  of  Fintryj 

95- 
The  F^te  Champetre,  177. 
The  day  returns,  my  bosom  burns,  239. 
On  Robert  Fergusson,  216. 
The  lazy  mist  hangs  from  the  brow  of  the 

hill,  241. 
I  hae  a  wife  o'  my  ain,  262. 
Auld  lang  syne,  277. 
Go  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o*  wine,  241, 
Robin  shure  in  hairst,  294. 

1788-89.  — ^t,  29-30. 

Sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar,  236. 

The  Gard'ner  wi'  his  paidle,  239. 

Beware  o'  bonie  Ann,  238. 

My  heart  's  in  the  Highlands,  244. 

The  banks  of  Nith,  252. 

Tarn  Glen,  252. 

1789.  —  MX.  30. 

Elegy  on  the  year  1788,  132. 

Extempore  Verses  to  Captain  Riddell,  156. 

Caledonia,  a  ballad,  341. 

Ode,  Sacred  to  the  Memory  of  Mrs.  Oswald 

of  Auchencruive,  91. 
Pegasus  at  Wanlockhead,  196. 
Ode  to  the  Departed  Regency-bill,  I789, 171. 
O,  sing  a  new  song  to  the  Lord  !  172. 
Delia,  an  Ode,  354. 
Sketch,  inscribed  to   Charles  James   Fox, 

Esq.,  173. 
Verses  on  a  Wounded  Hare,  102. 
To  James  Tennant  of  Glenconner,  156. 
The  Kirk's  Alarm,  120. 
To  Robert  Graham,  Esq.,  of  Fintry,  154. 
Willie  brew'd  a  peck  o'  maut,  251. 
The  Whistle,  109. 
Thou  Lingering  Star,  247. 
To  Dr.  Blacklock,  158. 
On   Captain   Grose's   Peregrinations  thro' 

Scotland,  103. 
Epigram  on  Captain  Grose,  207. 


424 


CHRONOLOGICAL  INDEX. 


v^erses  on  Captain  Grose,  133. 
Election  ballad  for  Westerha",  179. 
The  Five  Carlins,  an  Election  Ballad,  178. 
The  blue-eyed  lassie,  252. 
Sketch  —  New-year's  Day,  134. 
Prologue  spoken  at  the  Theatre,  Dumfries, 
on  New-year's  Day  Evening  (1790),  165. 

1790.  —  -^t.  31. 

Thine  am  I,  my  faithful  fair,  316. 

Prologue  for  Mrs.  Sutherland's  Benefit- 
night,  Dumfries,  166. 

Peg  Nicholson,  195. 

Written  to  a  Gentleman  who  had  sent  the 
Poet  a  Newspaper,  and  offered  to  con- 
tinue it  free  of  Expense,  159. 

Dear  Peter,  dear  Peter,  160. 

Yestreen  I  had  a  pint  o'  wine,  339. 

I  murder  hate,  209. 

Epistle  to  Robert  Graham,  Esq.,  of  Fin- 
try,  180. 

Elegy  on  Captain  Matthew  Henderson,  92. 

Epitaph  on  Captain  Henderson,  94. 

Tam  o'  Shanter :  a  Tale,  99. 

Stanzas  on  the  Birth  of  a  Posthumous  Child, 
born  in  peculiar  circumstances  of  Family- 
distress,  108. 

Elegy  on  the  late  Miss  Burnet  of  Mon- 
boddo,  196. 

1791.  —  ^t.  32. 

Lament  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  on  the 
approach  of  Spring,  94. 

There  '11  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes 
hame,  255. 

Lament  for  James,  Earl  of  Glencairn,  97. 

Lines  sent  to  Sir  John  Whitefoord,  Bart.,  98. 

Dear  Sir,  Our  Lucky  humbly  begs,  359. 

Sensibility  how  charming,  257. 

Address  to  the  Shade  of  Thomson,  103. 

Lovely  Davies,  261. 

Epigram  on  Miss  Davies,  208. 

Bonie  wee  thing,  259. 

A  Fragment :  on  Glenriddell's  Fox  breaking 
his  Chain,  174. 

To  John  Maxwell,  Esq.,  of  Terraughtie,  on 
his  Birthday,  160. 

Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever,  260. 

Ance  mair  I  hail  thee,  thou  gloomy  Decem- 
ber! 291. 

Farewell,  thou  fair  day,  thou  green  earth, 
and  ye  skies,  271. 


Craigieburn  Wood,  253. 
The  Banks  o'  Doon,  267. 

1792.-^1.33. 

My  Nanie  's  awa,  313. 

Wandering  Willie,  299. 

Lines  on  Fergusson,  195. 

The  Deil  's  awa  wi'  th'  Exciseman,  274, 

Bonie  Lesley,  305. 

The  lea-rig,  328. 

My  wife  's  a  winsome  wee  thing,  328. 

Highland  Mary,  317. 

The  Rights  of  Woman :  an  Occasional  Ad- 
dress spoken  by  Miss  Fontenelle,  167. 

To  Miss  Fontenelle,  on  seeing  her  in  a 
favourite  Character,  210. 

Auld  Rob  Morris,  300. 

Duncan  Gray,  302. 

Here  's  to  them  that 's  awa,  343. 

1793.  -  ^t.  34. 

Extempore  on  some  Commemorations  of 

Thomson,  197. 
O  poortith  cauld  and  restless  love,  304. 
Galla  Water,  299. 

Sonnet  on  hearing  a  Thrush  sing,  198. 
Lord  Gregory,  303. 
Open  the  door  to  me,  300. 
On  General   Dumourier's   desertion   from 

the  French  Republican  Army,  197. 
Young  Jessie,  305. 
When     Wild     War's     deadly    blast    was 

blawn,  301. 
It  is  na,  Jean,  thy  bonie  face,  258. 
Meg  o'  the  Mill,  296. 
Blythe  hae  I  been  on  yon  hill,  307. 
Logan  Water,  320. 
O  were  my  love  yon  Lilac  fair,  326. 
There  was  a  lass  and  she  was  fair,  327, 
Epitaph  on  a  Lap-dog,  217. 
Epigram  on  Morine,  210. 
Phillis  the  Fair,  345. 

Had  I  a  cave  on  some  wild  distant  shore,  309. 
By  Allan  stream  I  chanc'd  to  rove,  307. 
O,  whistle  and  I  '11  come  to  ye,  my  lad,  222. 
Adown  winding  Nith  I  did  wander,  306. 
Come,  let  me  take  thee  to  my  breast,  308. 
Scots  Wha  hae,  315. 
Where  are  the  joys  ?  320. 
Impromptu  on  Mrs.  Riddell's  Birthday,  4th 

November,  1793,  198, 


CHRONOLOGICAL   INDEX. 


425 


At  Brownhill   we   always  get  dainty  good 

cheer,  208. 
Graces  before  and  after  meat,  214. 
Husband,  husband,  cease  your  strife,  311. 
Address  spoken  by  Miss  Fontenelie  on  her 

benefit  night,  168. 
Lovely  Polly  Stewart,  286, 
In  a  lady's  pocket-book,  210. 
Epigrams  on  the  Earl  of  Galloway,  210. 

1794.  —  ^t.  35. 

Monody    on     a     Lady     famed     for     her 
caprice,  217. 

Epistle  from  Esopus  to  Maria,  135. 

The  lovely  lass  of  Inverness,  275. 

Out  over  the  Forth,  279. 

Louis,  what  reck  I  by  thee  ?  277. 

Charlie,  he  's  my  darling,  279. 

The  Cooper  o'  Cuddy,  280. 
'        Somebody !  280. 

Wilt  thou  be  my  Dearie  ?  286. 

Wae  is  my  heart,  287. 

Here  's  to  thy  health,  my  bonie  lass,  289. 

Sonnet  on  the  Death  of  Glenriddell,  199. 

To  William  Stewart,  161. 

Extempore  pinned  to  Mrs.  Riddell's  car- 
riage, 211. 

Epigram  on  a  noted  Coxcomb,  218. 

Here  is  the  Glen,  303. 

Fragment    of   an    Ode   for    Washington's 
Birthday,  175. 

As  I  stood  by  yon  roofless  tower,  275. 

A  tippling  ballad,  357. 

Address  to  the  Daughter  of  Mr.  Graham 
of  Fintry,  161. 

Ye    true   '  Loyal    Natives,'  attend   to   my 
song,  209. 

How  can  my  poor  heart  be  glad  ?  322. 

Ca'  the  yowes  to  the  knowes,  322. 

Sae  flaxen  were  her  ringlets,  281. 

To    Dr.   Maxwell,  on   Miss  Jessy  Staig's 
Recovery,  211. 

To  Chloris,  163. 

Lassie  wi'  the  lint-white  locks,  319. 

O  saw  ye  my  dear,  my  Philly  ?  345. 

How  lang  and  dreary  is  the  night,  231. 

Let  not  Woman  e'er  complain,  303. 

Sleep'st  thou,  or  wauk'st  thou,  fairest  crea- 
ture, 326. 

But  lately  seen  in  gladsome  green,  288. 

Epigram  on  seeing  Mrs.  Kemble  in  Yar- 
ico,  212. 


Epigram  on  Walter  Riddell,  Esq.,  218. 
My  Chloris,  mark  how  green  the  groves,  318, 
O  IMiilly,  happy  be  that  day,  325. 
Contented  wi'  little,  308. 
Canst  thou  leave  me  thus,  my  Katy  ?  308. 
To  the  Hon.  Wm.  R.MauIe  of  Panmure,2i2. 
Thanksgiving  for  a  National  Victory,  360. 

1795.  —  .^t.  36. 

Scroggam,  293. 

My  Lord  a-hunting,  295. 

Jockey's  ta'en  the  parting  kiss,  296. 

O  lay  thy  loof  in  mine,  lass,  297. 

There  's  news,  lasses,  news,  298. 

O  Mally  's  meek,  Mally  's  sweet,  298. 

A  Man  "s  a  Man  for  a'  that,  323. 

O  let  me  in  this  ae  night,  324. 

Ballads  on  Mr.  Heron's  Election,  1795,  183. 

Does  haughty  Gaul  invasion  threat  ?  294. 

Instead  of   a  song,  boys,  I'll  give  you  a 

toast  (?I793).  175- 
Oh,  wat  ye  wha  's  in  yon  town  ?  284. 
Verses  to  John  Syme  of  Ryedale,  212. 
O  stay,  sweet  warbling  woodlark,  304. 
On  Chloris  being  ill,  360. 
Caledonia,  221. 

'T  was  na  her  bonie  blue  e'e  was  my  ruin,  346. 
Mark  yonder  pomp  of  costly  fashion,  324. 
Address  to  the  Toothache,  129. 
Forlorn,  my  Love,  no  comfort  near,  321. 
Last  May  a  braw  wooer,  312. 
O,  this  is  no  my  ain  lassie,  314. 
Now  spring  has  clad  the  grove  in  green,  314. 
O  bonie  was  yon  rosy  brier,  320. 
For  an  Altar  of  Independence,  213. 
Verses  on  the  Duke  of  Queensberry,  180. 
Verses  on  the  Destruction  of  the  Woods 

near  Drumlanrig,  351. 
To  Collector  Mitchell,  161. 
O  wha  is  she  that  lo'es  me,  368. 
Epigram  on  William  Cruickshank,  217. 
The  Philosopher's  Stone,  359. 

1796.  — ^t.  37. 

The  Dean  of  the  Faculty,  187. 
To  Colonel  de  Peyster,  162. 
A  lass  wi'  a  tocher,  307. 
Here  's  a  health,  310. 
Oh,  wert  thou  in  the  cauld  blast,  346. 
Wha  will  buy  my  troggin,  186. 
Verses  to  Miss  Jessie  Lewars,  213. 
Fairest  maid  on  Devon  banks,  318. 


GENERAL  INDEX  OF  TITLES  AND   FIRST  LINES 


-oOf©=»<x>- 


A  Bard's  Epitaph,  64. 
Aberfeldie,  The  Birks  of,  223. 
Accept  the  Gift  a  Friend  Sincere,  364. 
Adair,  Eppie,  248. 
Adam  Armour's  Prayer,  126. 
Additional  Lines  at  Stirling,  206. 
Additional  Stanzas  on  Fergusson,  216. 
Address  of  Beelzebub,  169. 

Spoken  by  Miss  Fontenelle,  168. 

to  a  Haggis,  83. 

to  Edinburgh,  83. 

to  the  Deil,  13. 

to  the  Shade  of  Thomson,  103. 

■ to  the  Toothache,  129. 

to  the  Unco  Guid,  75. 

A  Dedication  to  Gavin  Hamilton,  Esq.,  49. 
Adieu!  a  Heart-warm,  Fond  Adieu,  62. 
Admiring  Nature  in   her  Wildest  Grace, 

107. 
Adown  winding  Nith  I  did  wander,  306. 
A  Dream,  20. 

Ae  day,  as  Death,  that  Gruesome  Carl,  215. 
•Ae  fond  Kiss,  and  then  we  Sever,  260. 
Afar  the  Illustrious  Exile  Roams,  170. 
A  Fragment:  When  Guilford  Good,  86. 
Afton,  Sweet,  271. 
Again  Rejoicing  Nature  Sees,  88. 
Against  the  Earl  of  Galloway,  210. 
Again  the  Silent  Wheels  of  Time,  82. 
A  Guid  New-year  I  wish  thee,  Maggie,  31. 
Ah,  Chloris,  Could  I  Now  but  Sit,  360. 
Ah,  Chloris,  since  it  may  not  be,  344. 
A  Head,  Pure,  Sinless  quite  of  Brain  and 

Soul,  207. 
A  Highland  Welcome,  206, 
Ah,  Woe  is  Me,  my  Mother  Dear,  191. 
Aiken,  Esq..  For  Robert,  64. 
Ainslie  in  Church,  On  Miss,  205. 
A  Lass  wi'  a  Tocher,  307. 
Albania,  The  Bonie  Lass  of,  338. 
A    Little    Upright,    Pert,    Tart,    Tripping 

Wight,  202. 


Allan  Stream,  By,  307. 

All  Hail,  Inexorable  Lord,  46. 

All  Villain  as  I  am — a  DamnM  Wretch, 

201. 
Altho'  he  has  Left  me  for  Greed  o'  the 

Siller,  347. 
Altho'  my  Back  be  at  the  Wa',  288. 
Altho'  my  Bed  were  in  yon  Muir,  330. 
Altho'  Thou  maun  never  be  Mine,  310. 
Amang  the  Trees,  where  Humming  Bees, 

338. 

A  Mauchline  Wedding,  125. 

Among  the  Heathy  Hills  and  Ragged 
Woods,  108. 

A  Mother's  Lament,  246. 

Ance  Mair  I  Hail  Thee,  Thou  Gloomy 
December,  291. 

Anderson  My  Jo,  John,  John,  244. 

And  I'll  Kiss  Thee  Yet,  233. 

A  New  Psalm  for  the  Chapel  of  Kilmar- 
nock, 172. 

An  Honest  Man  Here  Lies  at  Rest,  215. 

Anna,  Thy  Charms  My  Bosom  Fire,  105. 

Ann,  Beware  o'  Bonie,  238. 

An  Somebodie  Were  Come  Again,  242. 

A  Poet's  Grace,  214. 

A  Poet's  Welcome  to  his  Love-Begotten 
Daughter,  123. 

Apology  to  John  Syme,  213. 

Apostrophe  to  Fergusson,  190. 

A  Prayer  in  the  Prospect  of  Death,  45, 

A  Red,  Red  Rose,  275. 

Armour's  Prayer,  Adam,  126. 

A  Rose-bud,  by  My  Early  Walk,  233. 

A  Ruined  Farmer,  329. 

As  Cauld  a  Wind  as  Ever  Blew,  208. 

As  doun  the  Burn  they  took  their  Way,  348. 

As  Father  Adam  First  was  Fool'd,  63. 

As  I  Cam  Doon  the  Banks  o'  Nith,  180. 

As  I  Came  O'er  the  Cairney  Mount,  285. 

As  I  Gaed  Down  the  Water-side,  245. 

As  I  Gaed  Up  by  Yon  Gate-end,  344. 


426 


GENERAL   INDEX  OF  TITLES  AND   FIRST  LINES. 


437 


As  I  Stood  by  Yon  Roofless  Tower,  275. 

Beauteous  Rosebud,  Young  and  Gay,  104. 

As    I    was    a-wandering    ae     Midsummer 

Beelzebub,  Address  of,  169. 

E'enin",  365. 

Before  I  saw  Clarmda's  Face,  362. 

As  I  was  a-wandering  ae  Morning  in  Spring, 

Behind  Yon  Hills  Where  Lugar  P'iows,  87. 

358. 

Behold  the  Hour,  the  Boat,  Arrive,  321,  343. 

As  I  was  Walking  up  the  Street,  298. 

Bell,  Bonie,  272, 

Ask  why  God  Made   the   Gem   so   Small, 

Below  Thir  Stanes  Lie  Jamie's  Banes,  63. 

208. 

Beware  0'  Bonie  Ann,  238. 

A  Slave  to  Love's  Unbounded  Sway,  297. 

Birthday  Ode  for  31st  December  1787,  170. 

As  Mailie,  an'  her  Lambs  Thegither,  15. 

Blacklock,  To  Dr.,  158. 

A  Sonnet  upon  Sonnets,  199. 

Blair,  Elegy  on   the   Death   of   Sir  James 

As  on  the  Banks  of  Winding  Nith,  350. 

Hunter,  193. 

As  Tarn  the  Chapman  on  a  Day,  215. 

Bless  Jesus  Christ,  O  Cardoness,  219. 

At  Brownhill  we  Always  Get  Dainty  Good 

Blest  be  M'Murdo  to  his  Latest  Day,  198. 

Cheer,  208. 

Blythe  Hae  I  Been  on  Yon  Hill,  307. 

At  Carron  Ironworks,  206. 

Blythe  Was  She,  231. 

At  Friars  Carse  Hermitage,  213. 

Boghead,  Here  lies,  215. 

A'  the  Lads  0'  Thorniebank,  228. 

Bonie  Bell,  272. 

At  Inveraray,  205. 

Bonie  Dundee,  221. 

A  Tippling  Ballad,  357. 

Bonie  Wee  Thing,  259. 

At  Roslin  Inn,  204. 

Braw,  Braw  Lads  on  Yarrow  Braes,  299. 

At  the  Globe  Tavern,  214. 

Braw  Lads  0'  Galla  Water,  299. 

At  the  Globe  Tavern,  Dumfries,  209. 

Braw  Lads  of  Galla  Water,  371. 

At  Whigham's  Inn,  Sanquhar,  207. 

Bright  ran  thy  Line,  0  Galloway,  210. 

August,  Composed  in,  61. 

Brownhill  Inn,  At,  208. 

Auld  Chuckle  Reekie  's  Sair  Distrest,  131. 

Bruar  Water,  The  Humble  Petition  of,  105. 

Auld  Comrade   Dear  and  Brither  Sinner,  * 

*  Bruce.    A  Fragment,  374. 

156. 

Burnet  of  Monboddo,   Elegy  on  the  late 

Auld  Lang  Syne,  277. 

Miss,  196. 

Auld  Neebor,  I  'm  Three  Times  Doubly  o'er 

Burns,  Under  the  Portrait  of  Miss.  205. 

Your  Debtor,  140. 

Bushby  of  Tinwald  Downs,  On  John,  219. 

Auld  Rob  Morris,  300. 

Bushby's  Lamentation,  John,  185. 

A  Waukrife  Minnie,  250. 

But  Lately  Seen  in  Gladsome  Green,  288. 

Awa,  Whigs,  Awa,  245. 

But  Rarely  Seen  Since  Nature's  Birth,  213. 

Awa    wi'    Your    Witchcraft    0'    Beauty's 

But  Warily  Tent  when  Ye  Come  to  Court 

Alarms,  307. 

Me,  222. 

A  Winter  Night,  78. 

By  Allan  Stream  I  Chanc'd  to  Rove,  307. 

A'  Ye  Wha  Live  by  Sowps  0'  Drink,  48. 

By  Love  and  by  Beauty,  248. 

Ayr,  The  Brigs  of,  68. 

By  Oughtertyre  Grows  the  Aik,  232. 

Ay  Waukin,  0,  238. 

By  Yon   Castle  Wa'  at  the   Close  of  the 

Day,  255. 

Babington's  Looks,  On  Dr.,  212. 

Ballads  on  Mr.  Heron's  Election,  1795  : 

Caledonia,  341. 

First:  183. 

Can  I  Cease  to  Care,  319. 

Second :  The  Election,  184. 

Canst  Thou  Leave  Me,  308. 

Third :    John    Bushby's    Lamentation, 

Carl,  an  the  King  Come,  242. 

185. 

Carron  Ironworks,  At,  206. 

Fourth  :  The  Trogger,  186. 

Castle  Gordon,  132. 

Ballochmyle,  The  Braes  0',  247. 

Ca'  the  Yowes  to  the  Knowes  (first  set),  245. 

Ballochmyle,  The  Lass  0',  335. 

(second  set).  322. 

Bannocks  0'  Bear  Meal,  287. 

Cauld  blaws  the  Wind  frae  East  to  West, 

Barleycorn,  John,  85. 

226. 

428 


GENERAL   INDEX   OF  TITLES   AND   FIRST   LINES. 


Cauld  is  the  E'enin'  Blast,  297. 

Davies,  On  Miss,  208. 

Cease,  ye  Prudes,  your  Envious  Railing,  205. 

Davison,  Duncan,  228. 

Cessnoclc  Banks,  Tlie  Lass  of,  330. 

Dear ,  I  '11  Gie  ye  Some  Advice,  205, 

Ciialmers'  Sweetheart,  To  WilUe,  144. 

Dear  Peter,  dear  Peter,  160. 

Charlie  He  's  My  Darling,  279. 

Dear  Sir,  at  onie  Time  or  Tide,  156. 

O'er  the  Water  to,  232. 

Dear  Sir,  Our  Lucky  Humbly  Begs,  359. 

Chloris.  Ah,  344. 

Dear  Smith,  the  Slee'st,  Pawkie  Thief,  17. 

Inscription  to,  163. 

Death  and  Dr.  Hornbook,  65. 

Mark,  My,  318. 

Delia,  354. 

Chloris,  On,  211. 

Deluded  Swain,  the  Pleasure,  302. 

Clarinda,  Mistress  of  My  Soul,  235. 

De  Peyster,  To  Colonel,  162. 

Sylvander  to,  152. 

Despondency,  42. 

with  a  Pair  of  Wine  Glasses,  To,  152. 

Devon  Banks,  Fairest  Maid  on,  318. 

Cock  Up  Your  Beaver,  254. 

The  Banks  of  the,  229. 

Come  Boat  Me  O'er,  Come  Row  Me  O'er, 

Dire  was  the  Hate  at  Old  Harlaw,  187. 

233- 

Does  Haughty  Gaul  Invasion  Threat,  294. 

Come,  Bumpers  High!  Express  your  Joy, 

Doon,  Sweet  are  the  Banks  0',  340. 

342. 

The  Banks  0',  267. 

Come  Fill  Me  a  Bumper,  360. 

Ye  Flowery  Banks  0'  Bonie,  340. 

Come,  Let  Me  Take  Thee  to  My  Breast, 

Dost  Ask  Me  Why  I  send  Thee  Here,  346. 

308. 

Dost  Thou  not  Rise,  Indignant  Shade,  197. 

Come  Rede  Me,  Dame,  364. 

Dove,  On  John,  216. 

Comin'  Thro'  the  Rye,  Poor  Bodie,  278. 

Drumlanrig  Woods,   On  the   Destruction 

Composed  in  August,  61. 

of,  351- 

Composed  in  Spring,  88. 

Dumfries,  Prologue  Spoken  at  the  Theatre 

Contented  wi'  Little  and  Cantie  wi'  Mair, 

of,  165. 

308. 

Dumourier's  Desertion,  197. 

Corn  Rigs,  60, 

Dunbar,  Sweet  Tibbie,  236. 

Could  Aught  of  Song,  365. 

Duncan  Davison,  228. 

Craigdarroch,  Fam'd  for  Speaking  Art,  202. 

Duncan  Gray  (first  set),  229. 

Craigieburn,  Sweet  Fa's  the  Eve  on,  305.      ■* 

»• (second  set),  302. 

Wood,  253. 

Dundas,  On   the    Death    of    Lord   Presi- 

Creech, Lament  for  the  Absence  of  Will- 

dent, 194. 

iam,  130. 

Dundee,  Bonie,  221. 

On  William,  202. 

Dweller  in  Yon  Dungeon  Dark,  91. 

Crochallan  Came,  202. 

Crookieden,  I  Hae  Been  at,  258. 

Ecclefechan,  The  Lass  0',  280. 

Cruickshank,  A,  M.,  For  William,  217. 

Edina  !  Scotia's  Darling  Seat,  84. 

To  Miss,  104. 

Edinburgh,  Address  to,  83. 

Cuddy,  The  Cooper  0',  280. 

Election  Ballad  Addressed  to  Robert  Gra- 

Cunningham, To  Alexander,  153. 

ham,  Esq.,  of  Fintry,  180. 

Curs'd  be  the  Man,  the  Poorest  Wretch  in 

Election  Ballad  for  Westerha',  179. 

Life,  208. 

Election,  Ballads  on  Mr.  Heron's,  1795,  183. 

Curse  on   Ungrateful   Man,  that    can    be 

Elegy  on  Captain  Matthew  Henderson,  92. 

Pleas'd,  190. 

on  Stella,  348. 

on   the    Death  of  Sir  James  Hunter 

Daer,  Lines  on  Meeting  with  Lord,  129. 

Blair,  193. 

Damon  and  Sylvia,  370. 

on  the  Death  of  Robert  Ruisseaux,  192. 

Daughter  of  Chaos'  Doting  Years,  171. 

on  the  Departed  Year  1788,  132. 

Davie,  a  Brother  Poet,  Epistle  to,  38. 

on  the    Late    Miss    Burnet   of  Mon- 

Second  Epistle  to,  140. 

boddo,  196. 

Davies,  Lovely,  261. 

on  Willie  Nicol's  Mare,  194. 

GENERAL   INDEX  OF  TITLES  AND   FIRST   LINES. 


429 


[•"-liza,  From  Thee,  62. 

ICIphinstone's  Translation  of  Martial,  On, 

205. 
Envy,  if  thy  Jaundiced  Eye,  207. 
EiMStle  to  a  Young  Friend,  47. 

to  Davie,  a  Brother  Poet,  38. 

Second,  140. 

to  Dr.  Blacklock,  158. 

to  James  Smith,  17. 

to  J.  Lapraik,  52. 

Second,  54. 

Third,  138. 

to  John  Rankine,  59. 

l-lpitaph  on  a  Henpecked  Squire,  63. 

E|Mtaph  on  the  Poet's  Daughter,  366. 

Eppie  Adair,  248. 

Esopus  to  Maria,  From,  135. 

Evan  Banks,  368. 

Expect  na,  Sir,  in  this  Narration,  49. 

Extempore  in  the  Court  of  Session,  204. 

Extempore  Lines,  360. 

Extempore  to  Gavin  Hamilton,  145. 

Fair  Eliza,  265. 

Fair  Empress  of  the  Poet's  Soul,  152. 
Fairest  Maid  on  Devon  Banks,  318. 
Fair  Fa'  Your  Honest,  Sonsie  Face,  83. 
Fair  Maid,  You  Need  not  Take  the  Hint,  205. 
Fair  the  Face  of  Orient  Day,  354. 
Farewell,  Dear  Friend!    May  Guid  Luck 

Hit  You,  143. 
Farewell,  Old  Scotia's  Bleak  Domains,  192. 
Farewell,  Thou    Fair    Day,  Thou    Green 

Earth,  and  Ye  Skies,  271. 
Farewell,    Thou     Stream     that    Winding 

Flows,  309, 
Farewell  to  a'  our  Scottish  Fame,  269. 
Farewell   to    the   Brethren    of   St.  James's 

Lodge,  Tarbolton,  62. 
Farewell  to  the  Highlands,  Farewell  to  the 

North,  244. 
Farewell,  ye  Dungeons  Dark  and  Strong,  224, 
Fate  Gave  the  Word  —  the  Arrow  Sped,  246. 
Fergusson,  Additional  Stanzas  on,  216. 

Apostrophe  to,  190. 

Lines  on,  195. 

On  Robert,  216. 

Ferrier,  To  Miss,  151. 

Fill  Me  with  the  Rosy  Wine,  213. 

Fintry,  My  Stay  in  Worldly  Strife,  180. 

see  Graham. 

First  When  Maggie  was  My  Care,  242. 


Flow    Gently,  Sweet    Afton,  Among    Thj 

Green  Braes,  271. 
Fontenelle,  Address  Spoken  by  Miss,  168. 

On  Miss,  210. 

For  an  Altar  of  Independence,  213. 

For  Gabriel  Richardson,  220. 

For  Gavin  Hamilton, .Esq.,  64. 

For  Lords  or  Kings  I  Dinna  Mourn,  132. 

Forlorn  My  Love,  no  Comfort  Near,  321. 

For  Mr.  Walter  Riddell,  218. 

For  Mr.  William  Michie,  217. 

For  Robert  Aiken,  Esq.,  64. 

For  Shame !  Let  Folly  and  Knavery,  205. 

For  the  Author's  Father,  64. 

For  Thee  is  Laughing  Nature  Gay,  347. 

For  the  Sake  o'  Somebody,  280. 

Forth,  Out  over  the,  279. 

For  William  Cruickshank,  A.M.,  217. 

For  William  Nicol,  217. 

Fourteen,     a      Sonneteer      Thy     Praises 

Sings,  199. 
Fox,  Inscribed  to  the  Right  Hon.  C.  J.,  173. 
Frae  the  Friends  and  Land  I  Love,  253. 
Friars  Carse  Hermitage,  At,  213. 

Verses  in,  131. 

Written  in,  91. 

Friday  First  "s  the  Day  Appointed,  143. 
Friend  of  the  Poet,  Tried  and  Leal,  161. 
From  Esopus  to  Maria,  135. 
From  Thee,  Eliza,  I  Must  Go,  62. 
From  the  White-blossom'd  Sloe  My  Dear 

Chloris  Requested,  211. 
From  those  Drear  Solitudes  and  Frowsy 

Cells,  135. 
Full  Well  Thou  Know'st  I    Love   Thee 

Dear,  318. 
Fyers,  Lines  on  the  Fall  of,  108. 
Fy,  Let  Us  A"  to  Kirkcudbright,  184. 

Galla  Water,  Braw  Lads  o',  299. 
Galloway,  Against  the  Earl  of,  21a 

Laird,  On  a,  219. 

Gane  is  the  Day,  and  Mirk  's  the  Night,  255. 

Gat  Ye  Me,  O,  Gat  Ye  Me,  280. 

Gaul  Invasion  Threat,  Does  Haughty,  294, 

Glen,  Tam,252. 

Glencairn,  Lament  for  James,  Earl  of,  97. 

Glenriddell's    Fox    Breaking    his    Chain, 

On,  174. 
Globe  Tavern,  Dumfries,  At  the,  209,  214. 
Go,  Fetch  to  Me  a  Pint  o'  Wine,  241. 
Goldie's  Brains,  On  Commissary,  209. 


430 


GENERAL   INDEX   OF  TITLES  AND    FIRST   LINES. 


Goldie,  To  John,  137. 

Gordon  Castle,  132. 

Gordon's  Reel  Dancing,  On  the  Duchess 

of,  133. 
Gracie,  Thou  Art  a  Man  of  Worth,  213. 
Graham,  Esq.,  of   Fintry,   Election   Ballad 

Addressed  to  Robert,  180, 

Esq.,  of  Fintry,  Sonnet  to  Robert,  158. 

To  Robert,  95,  154. 

of  Fintry,  Inscription  to  Miss,  161. 

Graham  of  Mossknovve,  On  William,  219. 
Grant  Me,  Indulgent  Heaven,  that  I  may 

Live,  210, 
Gray,  Duncan  (first  set),  229. 

(second  set),  302. 

To  Symon,  151. 

Wee  Willie,  292. 

Green  Grow  the  Rashes,  O,  88. 

Gregory,  Lord,  303. 

Grieve,  Laird  of  Boghead,  Tarbolton,   On 

James,  215. 
Grizzel  Grimme,  On,  199, 
Grose,  On  Captain  Francis,  207. 
Grose's  Peregrinations  Thro*  Scotland,  On 

the  Late  Captain,  103. 
Gude  Pity  Me,  Because  I  'm  Little,  126. 
Guid  E'en  to  You,  Kimmer,  292. 
Guid-mornin  to  Your  Majesty,  20. 
Guid  Speed  and  Furder  to  You,  Johnie,  138. 
Guidwife,  Count  the  Lawin,  255. 

I  Mind  it  Weel,  in  Early  Date,  148. 

Guilford  Good,  When,  86. 

Had  I  a  Cave,  309. 

Had  I  the  Wyte  ?  Had  I  the  Wyte,  277, 

Hail,  Poesie  !  thou  Nymph  reserv'd,  350. 

Hail,  Thairm-inspirin,  Rattlin  Willie,  147. 

Halloween,  28. 

Hamilton,  Esq.,  A  Dedication  to  Gavin,  49. 

Extempore  to  Gavin,  145. 

For  Gavin,  64. 

To  Gavin,  142. 

Hampden,  On  Johnson's  Opinion  of,  205. 

Happy  Friendship,  363. 

Hark,  the  Mavis'  E'ening  Sang,  322. 

Harry,  Highland,  237. 

Has  Auld  Kilmarnock  Seen  the  Deil,  76. 

Ha!     Whare  Ye   Gaun,  Ye    Crowlin  Fer- 

lie,  51. 
Health  to  the  Maxwells'  Vet'ran  Chief,  i6o. 
Hear,  Land  o'  Cakes,  and  Brither  Scots, 

103. 


Heard  ye  o'  the  Tree  o'  France,  352. 

He  Clench'd  His   Pamphlets  in  His  Fisi; 

204. 
Hee  Balou,  My  Sweet  Wee  Donald,  287. 
He  Looked  Just  as  Your  Sign-post  Lions 

Do,  207. 
Henderson,  Elegy  on  Captain  Matthew,  92. 
Her   Daddie  Forbad,  Her  Minnie  Forbad, 

226. 
Here  am  I,  Johnny  Peep,  373. 
Here  around  the  Ingle  Bleezing,  363. 
Here  Awa',  There  Awa',  Wandering  Willie, 

299. 
Here  Brewer  Gabriel's  Fire's  Extinct,  220. 
Here  Comes  Burns,  366. 
Here  Cursing,  Swearing  Burton  Lies,  219. 
Here  Holy  Willie's  Sair  Worn  Clay,  215. 
Here  is   the   Glen,  and  Here  the  Bower, 

303. 
Here  Lies  a  Mock  Marquis,  WTiose  Titles 

were  Shamm'd,  219. 
Here  Lies  a  Rose,  a  Budding  Rose,  366. 
Here  Lies  Boghead  Amang  the  Dead,  215. 
Here  Lies  in  Earth  a  Root  of  Hell,  219. 
Here   Lies   John  Bushby  —  Honest    Man, 

219. 
Here  Lies  Johnie  Pigeon,  216. 
Here   Lies   'Mang   Ither  Useless  Matters, 

359. 
Here  Lie  Willie  Michie's  Banes,  217. 
Here  Lyes  with  Dethe  Auld  Grizzel  Grimme, 

219. 
Here  's  a  Bottle,  337. 
Here  's  a  Health,  310. 

Here  's  a  Health  to  Them  That 's  Awa,  343. 
Here  's  his  Health  in  Water,  288. 
Here  Souter  Hood  in  Death  Does  Sleep, 

63. 
Here  Stewarts  Once  in  Glory  Reigned,  206. 
Here  's  to  Thy  Health,  My  Bonie  Lass,  289. 
Here,  Where  the  Scottish  Muse  Immortal 

Lives,  160. 
Her  Flowing  Locks,  the  Raven's  Wing,  335. 
Heron's  Election,  1795,  Ballads  on,  183. 
He  Who  of  Rankine  Sang,  Lies  Stiff  and 

Deid,  220. 
Hey,  Ca'  Thro',  273. 
Hey  the  Dusty  Miller,  227. 
Highland  Harry,  237. 

Laddie,  285. 

Mary,  317. 

His  Face  with  Smile  Eternal  Drest,  207. 


GENERAL   INDEX   OF  TITLES  AND   FIRST   LINES. 


431 


His  Royal  Visage  Seamed  with  Many  a 
Scar,  374. 

Holy  Willie's  Prayer,  119. 

Hood,  Here  Souter,  63. 

Hornbook,  Death  and  Dr.,  65. 

How  Can  My  Poor  Heart  be  Glad,  322. 

How  Cold  is  that  Bosom  that  Folly  Once 
Fired,  217. 

How  Cruel  are  the  Parents,  310. 

How  Daur  Ye  Ca'  Me  '  Howlet-face,'  209. 

How  Gracefully  Maria  Leads  the  Dance, 
366. 

How  Lang  and  Dreary  is  the  Night,  231. 

How,  '  Liberty !  '  Girl,  Can  it  be  by  Thee 
Nam'd,  211. 

How  Pleasant  the  Banks  of  the  Clear  Wind- 
ing Devon,  229. 

How  Wisdom  and  Folly  Meet,  Mix,  and 
Unite,  173. 

Hughie  Graham,  370. 

Humid  Seal  of  Soft  Affections,  354. 

Husband,  Husband,  Cease  Your  Strife,  311. 

I  Am  a  Keeper  of  the  Law,  136. 
I  Am  My  Mammie's  Ae  Bairn,  223. 
I  Bought  My  Wife  a  Stane  o'  Lint,  261. 
I  Call  no  Goddess  to  Inspire  My  Strains, 

158. 
I  Coft  a  Stane  o'  Haslock  Woo,  281. 
I  Do  Confess  Thou  Art  Sae  Fair,  257. 
I    Dream'd   I    Lay  Where   Flowers  Were 

Springing,  227. 
I  Fee'd  a  Man  at  Martinmas,  273. 
If  Thou  Should  Ask  My  Love,  240. 
If  Ye  Gae  Up  to  Yon  Hill-top,  188. 
If  You  Rattle  Along  Like  Your  Mistress's 

Tongue,  211. 
I  Gaed  a  Waefu'  Gate  Yestreen,  252. 
I  Gaed  Up  to  Dunse,  294. 
I  Gat  Your  Letter,  Winsome  Willie,  56. 
I  Had  Sax  Owsen  in  a  Pleugh,  293. 
I  Hae  a  Wife  o'  My  Ain,  262. 
I  Hae  Been  at  Crookieden,  258. 
I  Hold  it,  Sir,  My  Bounden  Duty,  142. 
1  Lang  Hae  Thought,  My  Youthfu'  Friend, 

47- 
Ilk  Care  and  Fear,  when  Thou  art  Near, 

233- 
I  Look  to  the  West,  360. 
I  '11  Ay  Ca'  in  by  Yon  Town,  283. 
Ill-fated  Genius !  Heaven-taught  Fergusson, 

195- 


'11  Go  and  be  a  Sodger,  190. 

Love  My  Love  in  Secret,  236. 

Married  with  a  Scolding  Wife,  351. 

Met  a  Lass,  a  Bonie  Lass,  366. 

'm  now  Arrived  —  Thanks  to  the  Gods! 

348. 

'm  O'er  Young  to  Marry  Yet,  223. 
mpromptu  on  Mrs.  Riddell's  Birthday,  198. 
to  Captain  Riddell,  156. 

Murder  Hate  by  Field  or  Flood,  209. 
n  a  Lady's  Pocket-book,  210. 
n  Comin'  by  the  Brig  o'  Dye,  228. 

Never  Saw  a  Fairer,  329. 
n  Honest  Bacon's  Ingle-neuk,  161. 
nhuman    Man,   Curse  on  Thy  Barbarous 

Art,  102. 
n  Lamington  Kirk,  208. 
n   Mauchline  There  Dwells    Six    Proper 

Young  Belles,  190. 
nnocence,  373. 
nscnbed  on  a  Work  of  Hannah  More's, 

191. 
nscribed  to  the  Right  Hon.  C.  J.  Fox,  173. 
nscription  to  Chloris,  163. 
nscription  to  Miss  Graham  of  Fintry,  160. 
n  Se'enteen  Hunder  'n  Forty-nine,  212. 
n  Simmer,  When  the  Hay  was  Mawn,  265. 
nstead  of  a  Song,  Boys,  I  '11  Give  You  a 

Toast,  175. 
n   Tarbolton,  Ye  Ken,  There  are  Proper 

Young  Men,  189. 
n  this  Strange  Land,  this  Uncouth  Clime, 

153- 
n  Truth  and  Honor's  Name.     Amen,  127. 
n  Vain  would    Prudence   with    Decorous 

Sneer,  204. 
nveraray.  At,  205. 
nverness.  The  Lovely  Lass  of,  275. 
n  Wood  and  Wild,  Ye  Warbling  Throng, 

217. 

Rue  the  Day  I  Sought  Her,  O,  240. 

See  a  Form,  I  See  a  Face,  314. 

Sing  of  a  Whistle,  a  Whistle  of  Worth, 

109. 
s  there  a  Whim-inspired  Fool,  64. 
s  there  for  Honest  Poverty,  323. 
s  this  thy  Plighted,  Fond  Regard,  308. 
thers  Seek  They  Ken  na  What,  347. 
t  is  na,  Jean,  thy  Bonie  Face,  258. 
t  may  —  do  —  maun  —  do.  Sir,  359. 
t  was  a'  for  our  Rightfu'  King,  289. 
t  was  in  Sweet  Senegal,  271. 


432 


GENERAL   INDEX   OF  TITLES  AND   FIRST  LINES. 


It  was  the  Charming  Month  of  May,  311. 

Lamington  Kirk,  In,  208. 

It  was  upon  a  Lammas  Night,  60. 

Landlady,  Count  the  Lawin,  230. 

Lang  hae  we  Pairted  Been,  238. 

Jamie    comes   Hame,  There  '11  never  be 

(  First,  52. 

Peace  till,  255. 

Lapraik,  Epistle  to  <  Second,  54. 

Jamie,  Come  Try  Me,  240. 

(  Third,  138. 

Jamie,  Thou  Hast  Left  Me  Ever,  317. 

Lascelles,  On  Captain,  218. 

Jeanie's  Face,  When  First  I  Saw  Fair,  342. 

Lassie  wi'  the  Lint-white  Locks,  319. 

Jean,  Thy  Bonie  Face,  It  is  na,  258. 

Lass,  when  Your  Mither  is  Frae  Hame,  366. 

Jenny  M'Craw,  366. 

Last  May  a  Braw  Wooer  Cam  Down  the 

Jessie,  Young,  305. 

Lang  Glen,  312. 

Jockie  's  Ta'en  the  Parting  Kiss,  296. 

Late  Crippl'd  of  an  Arm  and  now  a  Leg,  95. 

Jockie  was  the  Blythest  Lad,  Young,  249. 

Leezie  Lindsay,  359. 

John  Anderson,  My  Jo,  John,  244. 

Lesley,  0  Saw  Ye  Bonie,  305. 

John  Barleycorn,  85. 

Let  Loove  Sparkle  in  her  E'e,  347. 

*  John,  Come  Kiss  Me  Now,  0,  254. 

Let  not  Women  e'er  Complain,  303. 

Johnie,  On  Wee,  63. 

Let  Other  Heroes  Boast  Their  Scars,  128. 

John,  Jumpin,  226. 

Let  Other  Poets  Raise  a  Frdcas,  5, 

Johnny  Peep,  373. 

Lewars,  To  Miss  Jessie,  163. 

J n.  To  the  Beautiful  Miss  Eliza,  211. 

Lewars,  Versicles  to  Jessie,  213. 

Johnson's  Opinion  of  Hampden,  On,  205. 

Liberty,  371. 

Jumpin  John,  226. 

Life  Ne'er  Exulted  in  so  Rich  a  Prize,  196. 

Light  Lay  the  Earth  on  Billie's  Breast,  218. 

Katharine  Jaffray,  370. 

Lines  on  Fergusson,  195. 

Kellyburn  Braes,  269. 

on  Meeting  With  Lord  Daer,  129. 

Kemble  in  Yarico,  On  Seeing  Mrs.,  212. 

on  the  Fall  of  Fyers,  108. 

Kemble,  Thou  Cur'st  my  Unbelief,  212. 

to  Sir  John  Whitefoord,  Bart.,  98. 

Kenmure  's  On  and  Awa,  WiUie,  O,  263. 

Written  on  a  Bank  Note,  191. 

Kennedy,  To  John,  141. 

Logan,  To  Major,  147. 

A    T*^n  roiiT^n     T  1*7 

,  To  Miss,  82. 

Water,  320. 

Ken  Ye  Ought  0'  Captain  Grose,  133. 

Killiecrankie,  251. 

Lone  on  the   Bleaky  Hills,  the   Straying 

Kilmarnock  Wabsters  Fidge  an'  Claw,  73. 

Flocks,  194. 

Kind  Sir,  I  've  Read  Your  Paper  Through, 

Long  Have  the  Learned  Sought,  Without 

159. 

Success,  359. 

Kirk  and  State  Excisemen,  211. 

Long  Life,  My  Lord,  an'  Health  be  Yours, 

Kist  Yestreen,  Kist  Yestreen,  360. 

169. 

Know  Thou,  0  Stranger  to  the  Fame,  64. 

Long,  Long  the  Night,  319. 

Kyle,  There  was  a  Lad  was  Born  in,  334. 

Lord  Gregory,  303. 

Lord,  Thee  We  Thank,  and  Thee  Alone, 

Laddie,  Lie  Near  Me,  238. 

214. 

Lady  Mary  Ann,  268. 

Lord,  to  Account  Who  does  Thee  Call,  209. 

Lady  Onlie,  Honest  Lucky,  228. 

Loud  Blaw  the  Frosty  Breezes,  227. 

Laggan,  On  the  Laird  of,  210. 

Louis,  What  Reck  I  by  Thee,  277. 

Lament  for  James,  Earl  of  Glencairn,  97. 

Lovely  Davies,  261. 

Lament  for  the  Absence  of  William  Creech, 

Lovely  Polly  Stewart,  286. 

ISO- 

Lugar  Flows,  Behind  Yon  Hills  Where,  87. 

Lament  Him,  Mauchline  Husbands  a',  216. 

Lament  in  Rhyme,  Lament  in  Prose,  16. 

M  Adam  of  Craigen-Gillan,  To  Mr.,  142. 

Lament  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  94. 

Mackenzie,  To  Dr.,  143. 

Lament  when  the  Poet  was  about  to  Leave 

M'Leod,  Esq.,  On  the  Death  of  John,  105. 

Scotland,  367. 

,  To  Miss  Isabella,  150. 

GENERAL  INDEX   OF  TITLES  AND  FIRST  LINES. 


433 


M'Math,  To  the  Rev.  John,  139. 

M'Murdo,  On  John,  198. 

MacNab,  My  Eppie,  259. 

M'Pherson's  Farewell,  224. 

Maggie,  The  Auld  Farmer's  New-year 
Morning  Salutation  to  His  Auld  Mare,  31. 

Maiiie,  The  Death  and  Dying  Words  of 
Poor,  15. 

Mailie's  Elegy,  Poor,  16. 

Mally  's  Meek,  Mally  's  Sweet,  298. 

Man  was  Made  to  Mourn,  43. 

Maria,  From  Esopus  to,  135. 

Mark  Yonder  Pomp  of  Costly  Fashion,  324. 

Mary  Ann,  Lady,  268. 

Mary,  Highland,  317. 

Mary  Morison,  329. 

Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  Lament  of,  94. 

Mary,  Will  ye  Go  to  the  Indies,  My,  335. 

Masonic  Song,  336. 

Mauchline  Belles,  O  Leave  Novels,  333. 

Mauchline  Lady,  The,  334. 

Mauchline,  The  Belles  of,  190. 

Maule  of  Panmure,  To  the  Hon.  Wm.  R., 
212. 

Maxwell,  Esq.,  of  Terraughtie,  To  John,  160. 

If  Merit  Here  You  Crave,  211. 

,  To  Dr.,  211. 

Meg  o'  the  Mill,  296,  344. 

Menzies'  Bonie  Mary,  Theniel,  228. 

Michie,  For  Mr.  William,  217. 

Mild  Zephyrs  Waft  Thee  to  Life's  Farthest 
Shore,  203. 

Mitchell,  To  Collector,  161. 

Monody  on  a  Lady  Famed  for  Her  Ca- 
price, 217. 

Montgomerie's  Peggy,  350. 

More's,  Inscribed  on  a  Book  of  Hannah,  191. 

Morison,  Mary,  329. 

Morris,  Auld  Rob,  300. 

Motto  prefixed  to  the  Kilmarnock  Edition, 

375- 
Muir  in  Tarbolton  Mill,  On  Wm.,  215. 

On  Robert,  217. 

Musing  on  the  Roaring  Ocean,  231. 
My  Blessings  on  Ye,  Honest  Wife,  204. 
My  Chloris,  Mark  how  Green  the  Groves, 

318. 
My  Collier  Laddie,  264. 
My  Curse  upon  Your  Venom'd  Stang,  129. 
My  Eppie  MacNab,  259. 
My  Father  was  a  Farmer  upon  the  Carrick 

Border,  O,  332. 
2F 


My  Girl  She  's  Airy,  358. 

My  Godlike  Friend  —  Nay,  do  not  Stare, 

153- 
My  Harry  was  a  Gallant  Gay,  237. 
My  Heart  is  a-Breaking,  Dear  Tittie,  252. 
My  Heart  is  Sair— I  Dare  na  Tell,  281. 
My  Heart  is  Wae,  and  Unco  Wae,  338. 
My  Heart  's  in  the  Highlands,  244. 
My  Heart  was  Ance  as  Blythe  and  Free, 

222. 
My  Highland  Lassie,  O,  224. 
My  Hoggie,  226. 

My  Honor'd  Colonel,  Deep  I  Feel,  162. 
My  Lord  a-Hunting  He  is  Gane,  295. 
My  Lord,  I  Know,  Your  Noble  Ear,  105. 
My  Lov'd,  My  Honor'd,  Much  Respected 

Friend,  33. 
My  Love,  She  's  but  a  Lassie  Yet,  240. 
My  Love  was  Born  in  Aberdeen,  246. 
My  Nanie,  O,  87. 
My  Nanie  's  Awa,  313. 
My  Peggy's  Face,  My  Peggy's  Form,  291. 
Myra,  the  Captive  Ribband  's  Mine,  243. 
My  Sandy  Gied  to  Me  a  Ring,  236. 
My  Tocher  's  the  Jewel,  254. 
My  Wife  's  a  Winsome  Wee  Thing,  328. 

Nae  Gentle  Dames,  Tho*  Ne'er  Sae  Fair, 

224. 
Nae  Heathen  Name  shall  I  Prefix,  151. 
Nanie  O,  My,  87. 
Nanie  's  Awa,  My,  313. 
Nature's  Law,  128. 
New  Year's  Day,  1791,  134, 
Nicol,  For  William,  217. 
Nicol's  Mare,  Elegy  on,  195. 
Ninetieth  Psalm  Versified,  82. 
Nithsdale's  Welcome  Hame,  264. 
Nith,  The  Banks  o',  252. 
No  Churchman  am  I  for  to    Rail   and   to 

Write,  89. 
No  Cold  Approach,  no  Altered  Mien,  347. 
No  More  of  Your  Guests,  be  They  Titled 

or  Not,  213. 
No  More,  Ye  Warblers  of  the  Wood,  No 

More,  199. 
No  Sculptur'd  Marble  Here,  nor  Pompous 

Lay,  216. 
No  Song  nor  Dance  I  Bring  from  Yon  Great 

City.  165. 
No  Spartan  Tube,  No  Attic  Shell,  176. 
No  Stewart  Art  Thou,  Galloway,  210. 


434 


GENERAL   INDEX    OF  TITLES  AND   FIRST   LINES. 


Now  God  in  Heaven  Bless  Reekie's  Town, 

359- 
Now  Haply  Down  Yon  Gay  Green  Shaw, 

284. 
Now  Health  Forsakes  that  Angel  Face,  356. 
Now  Honest  William  's  Gaen  to  Heaven, 

217. 
Now  in  Her  Green  Mantle  Blythe  Nature 

Arrays,  313. 
Now  Kennedy,  if  Foot  or  Horse,  141. 
Now  Nature  Cleeds  the  Flowery  Lea,  319. 
Now  Nature  Hangs  Her  Mantle  Green,  94. 
Now  Robin  Lies  in  His  Last  Lair,  192. 
Now  Rosy  May  Comes  in  wi'  Flowers,  313. 
Now  Simmer  Blinks  on  Flow'ry  Braes,  223. 
Now  Spring  has  Clad  the  Grove  in  Green, 

314- 
Now  to  the  Streaming  Fouritain,  327. 
Now    Westlin'    Winds    and    Slaught'ring 

Guns,  61. 

O,  an  Ye  were  Dead,  Guidman,  276. 

O  a'  ye  Pious  Godly  Flocks,  117. 

O,  Ay  My  Wife  She  Dang  Me,  293. 

O,  Bonie  was  Yon  Rosy  Brier,  320. 

O,  Cam'  Ye  Here  the  Fight  to  Shun,  248. 

O,  Can  Ye  Labour  Lea,  273. 

O,  Can  Ye  Sew  Cushions?  369. 

O.  Could  I  Give  Thee  India's  Wealth,  158. 

O  Death,  Had'st  Thou  but  Spar'd  His  Life, 

63. 
O  Death!  Thou  Tyrant  Fell  and  Bloody, 

92. 
Ode  for  General  Washington's   Birthday, 

175- 
Ode  Sacred  to  the  Memory  of  Mrs.  Oswald, 

91. 
Ode  to  the  Departed  Regency  Bill,  171. 
O'er  the  Mist-shrouded  Cliffs  of  the  Lone 

Mountain  Straying,  367. 
O'er  the  Water  to  Charlie,  232. 
Of  all  the   Numerous   Ills  that  Hurt  our 

Peace,  201. 
Of  a"  the  Airts  the  Wind  Can  Blaw,  242. 
Of  Lordly  Acquaintance  You  Boast,  208. 
O  for  Ane-and-Twenty,  Tam,  262. 
O  Gie  My  Love  Brose,  Brose,  367. 
O  Goudie,  Terror  o'  the  Whigs,  137. 
O,  Guid  Ale  Comes,  293. 
O,  Had  each  Scot  of  Ancient  Times,  207. 
O  Had  the  Malt  Thy  Strength  of  Mind,  212. 
'O,  How  Can  I  be  Blythe  and  Glad,  256. 


O,  How  Shall  I,  Unskilfu'.  Try,  261. 

O,  I  am  Come  to  the  Low  Countrie,  290. 

O  John,  Come  Kiss  Me  Now,  254. 

O,  Kenmure  's  On  and  Awa,  Willie,  262. 

O,  Ken  Ye  What  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has  Got- 
ten, 296,  344. 

O,  Lady  Mary  Ann  Looks  o'er  the  Castle 
Wa',  268. 

O  Lassie,  Are  Ye  Sleepin  Yet,  324. 

O,  Lay  Thy  Loof  in  Mine,  Lass,  297. 

Old  Winter,  with  His  Frosty  Beard,  198. 

O,  Leave  Novels,  Ye  Mauchline  Belles,  333. 

O,  Leeze  Me  on  My  Spinnin-wheel,  262. 

O,  Let  Me  in  this  Ae  Night,  324. 

O  Logan,  Sweetly  Did'st  Thou  Glide,  320. 

O  Lord,  since  We  have  Feasted  thus,  214. 

O  Lord,  We  do  Thee  humbly  Thank,  214. 

O  Lord,  When  Hunger  Pinches  Sore,  214. 

O  Lowse  My  Right-hand   Free,  He   Says, 

370- 
O,  Luve  Will  Venture  in  Where  it  Daur  na 

Weel  be  Seen,  266. 
O  Mary,  at  Thy  Window  Be,  329. 
O  May,  Thy  Morn  was  Ne'er  sae  Sweet, 

285. 
O  Meikle  do  I  Rue,  Fause  Love,  363. 
O  Meikle  Thinks  my  Luve  o'  my  Beauty, 

254- 

O,  Merry  Hae  I  Been  Teethin  a  Heckle, 
246. 

O,  Mirk,  Mirk  is  This  Midnight  Hour,  303. 

O,  My  Luve  is  Like  a  Red,  Red  Rose,  275. 

On  a  Bank  of  Flowers  in  a  Summer  Day, 
238. 

On  a  Beautiful  Country  Seat,  208. 

On  a  Celebrated  Ruling  Elder,  63. 

On  a  Galloway  Laird,  219. 

On  a  Goblet,  212. 

On  a  Henpecked  Squire,  Epigram,  63, 

,  Epitaph,  63. 

On  a  Lap-dog,  217. 

On  Andrew  Turner,  212. 

On  an  Innkeeper  Nicknamed  'The  Mar- 
quis,' 219. 

On  a  Noisy  Polemic,  63. 

On  a  Noted  Coxcomb,  218. 

On  a  Scotch  Bard,  48. 

On  a  Suicide,  219. 

On  a  Swearing  Coxcomb,  219. 

On  a  Wag  in  Mauchline,  216. 

On  a  Work  of  Hannah  More's,  Inscribed, 
191. 


GENERAL  INDEX   OF  TITLES   AND   FIRST  LINES. 


435 


On  Being  Appointed  to  an  Excise  Divi- 
sion, 207. 

On  Burns's  Horse  Being  Impounded,  369. 

On  Captain  Francis  Grose,  207. 

On  Captain  Grose,  133. 

On  Captain  Lascelles,  218. 

Once  Fondly  Lov'd  and  Still  Remember'd 
Dear,  144. 

On  Cessnock  Banks  a  Lassie  Dwells,  330. 

On  Chloris,  211. 

On  Commissary  Goldie's  Brains,  209. 

On  Dr.  Babington's  Looks,  212. 

On  Elphinstone's  Translation  of  Martial, 
205. 

One  Night  as  I  Did  Wander,  334. 

One  Queen  Artemisa,  as  Old  Stories  Tell, 

On  General  Dumourier's  Desertion,  197. 
On  Glenriddell's  Fox  Breakmg  his  Chain, 

174. 
On  Grizzel  Grimme,  219. 
On  Hearing  a  Thrush  Sing  in  a  Morning 

Walk  in  January,  198. 
On  Himself,  366. 
On  Holy  Willie,  215. 
On  James  Grieve,  Laird  of  Boghead,  Tar- 

bolton,  215. 
On  John  Bushby  of  Tinwald  Downs,  219. 
On  John  Dove,  216. 
On  John  M'Murdo,  198. 
On  John  Rankine,  215. 
On  Johnson's  Opinion  of  Hampden,  205. 
Onlie,  Honest  Lucky,  Lady,  228. 
On  Maria  Dancing,  366. 
On  Maria  Riddell,  210. 
On  Marriage,  214. 
On  Miss  Ainslie  in  Church,  205. 
On  Miss  Davies,  208. 
On  Miss  Fontenelle,  210. 
On  Miss  Jean  Scott,  207. 
On  Mr.  James  Gracie,  213. 
On   Peace   an"   Rest   my  Mind  was   Bent, 

293- 
On  Reading  in  a  Newspaper  the  Death  of 

John  M'Leod,  Esq.,  105. 
On  Robert  Fergusson,  216. 
On  Robert  Muir,  217. 
On  Rough  Roads,  348. 
On   Scaring    Some    Water-Fowl  in   Loch 

Turit,  107. 
On  Seeing  a  Wounded  Hare,  102. 
On  Seeing  Mrs.  Kemble  in  Yarico,  212. 


On  Seeing  the  Royal  Palace  at  Stirling  in 
Ruins,  206. 

On  some  Commemorations  of  Thomson, 
197. 

On  Tam  the  Chapman,  215, 

On  Thanksgiving  for  a  National  Victory, 
211. 

On  the  Author,  220. 

On  the  Birth  of  a  Posthumous  Child,  108. 

On  the  Commemoration  of  Rodney's  Vic- 
tory, 175. 

On  the  Death  of  a  Favourite  Child,  356. 

On  the  Death  of  John  M'Leod,  Esq.,  105. 

On  the  Death  of  Lord  President  Dundas, 
194. 

On  the  Death  of  Robert  Riddell  of  Glen- 
riddell.  Sonnet,  199. 

On  the  Destruction  of  Drumlanrig  Woods, 

351- 
On  the  Duchess  of  Gordon's  Reel  Dancing, 

133- 
On  the  Earl  of  Galloway,  on  the  Author 

being  Threatened  with  Vengeance,  210. 
On  the  Illness  of  a  Favourite  Child,  356. 
On  the  Laird  of  Laggan,  210. 
On  the  late  Captain  Grose's  Peregrinations 

thro'  Scotland,  103. 
On  the  Same  [i.e.  the  Earl  of  Galloway], 

210. 
On  Thomas  Kirkpatrick,  359. 
On  Wee  Johnie,  63. 
On  William  Creech,  202. 
On  Wm.  Graham  of  Mossknowe,  219. 
On  Wm.  Muir  in  Tarbolton  Mill,  215. 
On  William  Smellie,  202. 
O,  Once  I  Lov'd  a  Bonie  Lass,  295. 
O,  Open  the  Door  some  Pity  to  Shew,  300. 
O  Philly,  Happy  be  that  Day,  325. 
O  Poortith  Cauld  and  Restless  Love,  304. 
Oppress'd  with  Grief,  Oppress'd  with  Care, 

42. 
O,  Raging  Fortune's  Withering  Blast,  332. 
O,  Rattlin,  Roarin  Willie,  234. 
O  Rough,  Rude,  Ready-witted  Rankine,  59. 
Orthodox !  Orthodox,  120. 
O,  Sad  and  Heavy  should  I  part,  283. 
O,  Saw  Ye  Bonie  Lesley,  305. 
O,  Saw  Ye  my  Dearie,  my  Eppie  MacNabi 

259- 
O,  Saw  Ye  my  Dear,  my  Philly,  345. 
O'  Shanter,  Tam,  99. 
O,  Sing  a  New  Song  to  the  Lord,  172. 


436 


GENERAL   INDEX   OF  TITLES   AND   FIRST   LINES. 


O,  Some  will  Court  and  Compliment,  254. 
O,  Stay,  Sweet  Warbling  Wood-lark,  304. 
O,  Steer  Her  up,  an'  Haud  Her  Gaun,  291. 
Oswald,  Ode  Sacred  to  the  Memory  of  Mrs., 

91. 
O,  Sweet  be  thy  Sleep  in  the  Land  of  the 

Grave,  356. 
O,  That  I  Had  ne'er  been  Married,  298. 
O,  This  is  no  My  Ain  Lassie,  314. 
O  Thou  Dread  Power,  Who  Reign'st  Above, 

80. 
O  Thou  Great  Being!  What  Tliou  Art,  81. 
O  Thou,  in  Whom  We  Live  and  Move,  214. 
O  Thou  Pale  Orb  that  Silent  Shines,  41. 
O  Thou  that  in  the  Heavens  does  Dwell, 

119. 
O  Thou  the  First,  the  Greatest  Friend,  82, 
O  Thou  Unknown,  Almighty  Cause,  45. 
O  Thou!  Whatever  Title  Suit  Thee,  13. 
O  Thou,  Who  Kindly  dost  Provide,  214. 
O  Thou  Whom  Poesy  Abhors,  205. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae  Seen  the  Day,  234. 
Our  Thrissles  Flourished  Fresh  and  Fair, 

245- 
Out  over  the  Forth,  I  Look  to  the  North, 

279. 
O,  Wat  Ye  Wha  's  in  Yon  Town,  284. 
O,  Wat  Ye  Wha  that  Lo'es  Me,  315. 
O,  Wat  ye  what  my  Minnie  Did,  367. 
O,  Were  I  on  Parnassus  Hill,  243, 
O,  Were  my  Love  yon  Lilac  Fair,  326. 
O,  Wert  Thou  in  the  Cauld  Blast,  3^6. 
O,  Wha  is  She  that  Lo'es  Me,  368. 
O,  Wha  my  Babie-clouts  will  Buy,  247. 
O,  Whare  Live  Ye,  my  Bonie  Lass,  264. 
O,  Whar  Gat  Ye  that  Hauver-meal    Ban- 
nock, 221. 
O,  Wha  Will  to  St.  Stephen's  House,  177. 
O,  When  She  cam  Ben,  She  Bobbed  fu' 

Low,  262. 
O,  Whistle  and  I  '11  Come  to  Ye,  My  Lad, 

222. 
O,  Why  the  Deuce  should  I  Repine,  190. 
O  Willie  Brewed  a  Peck  o'  Maut,  251. 
O,   Wilt  Thou  Go   wi'   Me,  Sweet  Tibbie 

Dunbar,  236. 
O  Ye,  Wha  are  sae  Guid  Yoursel,  75. 
O  Ye  Whose  Cheek  the  Tear  of  Pity  Stains, 

64. 

Paraphrase  of  the  First  Psalm,  81. 
Parker,  To  Hugh,  153. 


Parnassus  Hill,  O,  Were  I  on,  243. 

Passion's  Cry,  203. 

Pastoral  Verses  to  Clarinda,  362. 

Pegasus  at  Wanlockhead,  196. 

Peggy,  Montgomerie's,  330. 

Peggy's  Face,  My  Peggy's  Form,  My,  291. 

Peg  Nicholson  was  a  Good  Bay  Mare,  195. 

Peg,  Pretty,  344. 

Phillis  the  Fair,  345. 

Wherefore  Sighing  art  Thou,  285. 

Philly,  Happy  be  that  Day,  O,  325. 

O  Saw  Ye  my  Dear,  my,  345. 

Pinned  to  Mrs.  Walter  Riddell's  Carriage, 

211. 
Poem  on  Pastoral  Poetry,  350. 
Poor  Mailie's  Elegy,  16. 
Powers  Celestial !  Whose  Protection,  369. 
'  Praise  Woman  Still,'  His  Lordship  Roars, 

2IO. 

Prayer :  O  Thou  Dread  Power,  80. 

Prayer  under  the  Pressure  of  Violent  An- 
guish, 81. 

Pretty  Peg,  344. 

Primrose,  The,  346. 

Prologue  Spoken  at  the  Theatre  of  Dum- 
fries, 165. 

Spoken  by  Mr.  Woods,  164. 

Raging  Fortune,  332. 

Rankine,  Epistle  to  John,  59,  136. 

On  John,  215. 

Rash    Mortal,  and    Slanderous    Poet,  thy 

Name,  206. 
Rattlin,  Roarin  Willie,  234. 
Raving  Winds  around  Her  Blowing,  230. 
Remorse,  201. 
Remorseful  Apology,  161. 
Renton  of  Lamerton,  150. 
Reply  to  an  Invitation,  143. 

to  a  Note  from  Captain  Riddell,  156. 

Reply  to  a  Trimming  Epistle  from  a  Tailor, 

146, 
to  the  Threat  of  a  Censorious  Critic, 

206. 
Revered  Defender  of  Beauteous  Stuart,  149. 
Richardson,  For  Gabriel,  220. 
Riddell,  For  Mr.  Walter,  218. 

,  Impromptu  on  Captain,  156. 

of  Glenriddell,  Sonnet  on  the  Death  of, 

199. 

,  On  Maria,  210. 

,  Reply  to  a  Note  from,  156. 


GENERAL   INDEX   OF  TITLES   AND   FIRST    LINES. 


437 


Riddell's   Birthday,   Impromptu   on    Mrs., 
198. 

Carriage,  Pinned  to  Mrs.  Walter,  211. 

Riglit,  Sir!  Your  Text  I'll  Prove  It  True, 

75- 
Robin  Shure  in  Hairst,  294. 
Roddick  of  Corbiston,  On  Captain  Wm., 

218. 
Rodney's  Victory,  On  the  Commemoration 

of,  175- 
Ronalds  of  the  Bennals,  The,  189. 
Roslin  Inn,  At,  204. 
Ruisseaux,  Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Robert, 

192. 
Rusticity's  Ungainly  Form,  202. 

Sad  Bird  of  Night,  what  Sorrow  Calls  thee 

forth,  354. 
Sad  thy  Tale,  thou  Idle  Page,  105. 
Sae  Fair  Her  Hair,  sae  Brent  Her  Brow, 

371- 
Sae  Far  Awa,  283. 
Sae  Flaxen  were  her  Ringlets,  281. 
Samson's  Elegy,  Tam,76. 
Sandy  Gied  to  Me  a  Ring,  My,  236. 
Saw  Ye  Bonie  Lesley,  305. 
Say,  Sages,  What 's  the  Charm  on  Earth, 

213. 
Scotch  Drink,  4. 

Scots  Prologue  for  Mrs.  Sutherland,  166. 
-Scots  Wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  Bled,  315. 
Scott,  On  Miss  Jean,  207. 
Scroggam,  293. 

Searching  Auld  Wives'  Barrels,  207. 
Sensibility  how  Charming,  257. 
She  Kiltit  up  her  Kirtle  Weel,  133. 
Shelah  O'Neil,  374. 
She  Mourns,   Sweet    Tuneful  Youth,    thy 

Hapless  Fate,  216. 
Sherramuir,  The  Battle  of,  248. 
She 's  Fair    and    Fause   that    Causes  my 

Smart,  274. 
Should  Auld  Acquaintance  be  Forgot,  277. 
Sick  of  the  World,  359. 
Simmer  's  a  Pleasant  Time,  238. 
Simpson  of  Ochiltree,  To  William,  56. 
Sing  on,  Sweet  Thrush,  upon  the  Leafless 

Bough,  198. 
Sir,  as  your  Mandate  did  Request,  124. 
Sir,  o'er  a  Gill  I  Gat  your  Card,  142. 
Sir,  Yours  this  Moment  I  Unseal,  143. 
Sketch  for  an  Elegy,  202. 


Sleep'st  Thou,  or  Wauk'st  Thou,  Fairest 

Creature,  326. 
Slow  Spreads  the  Gloom  My  Soul  Desires, 

368. 
Smcllie,  On  William,  202. 
Smith,  Epistle  to  James,  17. 
So  Heavy,  Passive  to  the  Tempest's  Shocks, 

207. 
Some  Books  are  Lies  frae  End  to  End,  65. 
Some  hae  Meat  and  canna  eat,  370. 
Sonnet  on  the  Death  of  Robert  Riddell  of 

Glenriddell,  199. 

to  Robert  Graham,  Esq.,  of  Fintry,  158. 

Sound  Be  His  Sleep,  358. 

So  Vile  was  Poor  Wat,  such  a  Miscreant 

Slave,  218. 
Spare  me  thy  Vengeance,  Galloway,  210. 
Stanzas  in  Prospect  of  Death,  80. 
Stay,  my  Charmer,  can  you  Leave  me,  225. 
Stella,  Elegy  on,  348. 
Stewart,  Lovely  Polly,  286. 

To  William,  161. 

You  're  Welcome,  Willie,  342. 

Still  Anxious  to  Secure  your  Partial  Favour, 

168. 
Stirling,  Additional  Lines  at,  206. 
in  Ruins,  On  Seeing  the  Royal  Palace 

at,  206. 
St.  James'  Lodge,  Tarbolton,  Farewell  to 

the  Brethren  of,  62. 
Stop,  Passenger !  my  Story  's  brief,  94. 
'  Stop    Thief  ! '     Dame   Nature    Call'd    to 

Death,  219. 
Strait  is  the  Spot,  and  Green  the  Sod,  348. 
Strathallan's  Lament,  225. 
Streams  that  GHde  in  Orient  Plains,  132. 
Stuart,  To  Peter,  160. 
Stumpie,  The  Reel  o',  283. 
Such  .-  Parcel  of  Rogues  in  a  Nation,  269. 
Sutherland,  Scots  Prologue  for  Mrs.,  166. 
Sweet  Afton,  271, 
Sweet  are  the  Banks,  340. 
Sweet  Closes  the  Ev'ning  on  Craigieburn 

Wood,  253. 
Sweetest  May,  Let  Love  Inspire  Thee,  296. 
Sweet  Fa's  the  Eve  on  Craigieburn,  305. 
Sweet   Flow'ret,    Pledge   o"    Meikle    Love, 

108. 
Sweet  Naiv'ete  of  Feature,  210. 
Sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar,  236. 
Sylvander  to  Clarinda,  152. 
Syme,  Apology  to  John,  213. 


438 


GENERAL  INDEX   OF  TITLES   AND   FIRST   LINES. 


Syme  of  Ryedale,  To  John,  212. 
Symon  Gray,  You're  Dull  To-day,  151. 

Talk  not  to  Me  of  Savages,  213. 

Tarn  Glen,  252. 

Tarn  o'  Shanter,  99. 

Tarn  Samson's  Elegy,  76. 

Tarn  the  Chapman,  On,  215. 

Tarbolton  Lasses,  188. 

Tennant  of  Glenconner,  To  James,  156. 

Thanksgiving  for  a  National  Victory,  360. 

That  Hackney'd  Judge  of  Human  Life,  214. 

That  there   is  a   Falsehood  in  his  Looks, 

212. 
The  Auld    Farmer's    New-Year    Morning 

Salutation  to  his  Auld  Mare,  Maggie,  31. 
The  Author's  Earnest  Cry  and  Prayer,  7. 
The  Bairns  Gat  out  wi'  an  Unco  Shout,  274. 
The  Banks  o'  Doon,  267. 
The  Banks  of  Nith,  252. 
The  Banks  of  Nith  (2d),  363. 
The  Banks  of  the  Devon,  229. 
The  Battle  of  Sherramuir,  248. 
The  Belles  of  Mauchline,  190. 
The  Birks  of  Aberfeldie,  223. 
The   Blude-Red    Rose   at  Yule  may  Blaw, 

232. 
The  Blue-Eyed  Lassie,  252. 
The  Bonie  Lad  that 's  far  Awa,  256. 
The  Bonie  Lass  of  Albanie,  338. 
The  Bonie  Moor-Hen,  337. 
The  Bonniest  Lad  that  e'er  I  Saw,  285. 
The  Book- Worms,  205. 
The  Braes  o'  Ballochmyle,  247. 
The  Brigs  of  Ayr,  68. 
The  Calf,  75. 

The  Captain's  Lady,  241. 
The  Captive  Ribband,  243. 
The  Cardin  o 't,  281. 
The  Cares  o'  Love  are  Sweeter  far,  204. 
The  Catrine  Woods  were  Yellow  Seen,  247. 
Tlie  Chevalier's  Lament,  338. 
The  Cooper  o'  Cuddy  Came  Here  Awa,  280. 
The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  33. 
The  Court  of  Equity,  126. 
The   Crimson   Blossom   Charms   the  Bee, 

150. 
The  Day  Returns,  My  Bosom  Burns,  239, 
The  Dean  of  the  Faculty,  187. 
The   Death   and    Dying   Words    of   Poor 

Mailie,  15. 
The  Deil  cam  Fiddlin'  thro'  the  Town,  274. 


The  Deil 's  Awa  wi'  th'  Exciseman,  274. 
The  Deuk  's  Dang  o'er  my  Daddie,  274. 
The    Devil    got    Notice    that    Grose   was 

a-Dying,  207. 
The  Dusty  Miller,  227. 
Thee,  Caledonia,  thy  Wild  Heaths  Among, 

371- 
The  Farewell,  192. 
The  Farewell,  62. 
The  Fete  Champetre,  177. 
The  Five  Carlins,  178. 
The  Flower  it  Blaws,  it  Fades,  it  Fa's,  286. 
The  Friend  whom,  Wild  from  Wisdom's 

Way,  161. 
The  Gallant  Weaver,  272. 
The  Gard'ner  wi'  his  Paidle,  239. 
The  Gloomy  Night  is  Gath'ring  Fast,  89. 
The  Greybeard,    Old  Wisdom,  may  Boast 

of  his  Treasures,  209. 
The  Heather  was  Blooming,  the  Meadows 

were  Mawn,  337. 
The  Hermit  of  Aberfeldy,  361. 
The  Highland  Balou,  287. 
The  Highland  Widow's  Lament,  290. 
The  Holy  Fair,  10. 
The  Holy  Tulyie,  117, 

The  Humble  Pethion  of  Bruar  Water,  105. 
The  Inventory,  124. 
Their  Groves  o'  Sweet  Myrtle  let  Foreign 

Lands  Reckon,  316. 
The  Jolly  Beggars,  a  Cantata,  iii. 
The  Joyful  Widower,  351. 
The  Keekin  Glass,  209. 
The  King's   Poor  Blackguard  Slave  am  I, 

360. 
The  Kirk's  Alarm,  120. 
The  Laddies  by  the  Banks  o'  Nith,  179. 
The  Lament,  40. 
The    Lamp     of    Day    with     Ill-Presaging 

Glare,  193. 
The  Lass  o'  Ballochmyle,  335. 
The  Lass  o'  Ecclefechan,  280. 
The  Lass  of  Cessnock  Banks,  330. 
The  Lass  that  Made  the  Bed,  282. 
The  Last  Braw  Bridal  that  I  was  at,  372. 
The  Lazy  Mist  Hangs  from  the  Brow  of  the 

Hill,  241. 
The  Lea-Rig,  328. 
The  Lovely  Lass  of  Inverness,  275. 
The  Man,  in  Life  Wherever  Plac'd,  81. 
The  Mauchline  Lady,  334. 
Theniel  Menzies'  Bonie  Mary,  228. 


GENERAL   INDEX   OF  TITLES   AND   FIRST   LINES. 


439 


The  Night  was  Still,  336. 

The  Ninetieth  Psalm  Versified,  82. 

The  Noble  Maxwells  and  their  Powers,  265. 

The  Old  Cock'd   Hat,  the  Brown  Surtout 

the  Same,  202. 
The  Ordination,  73. 
The  Philosopher's  Stone,  359, 
The  Ploughman,  He  's  a  Bonie  Lad,  230. 
The  Ploughman's  Life,  358. 
The    Poor    Man    Weeps  —  Here    Gavin 

Sleeps,  64. 
The  Posie,  266. 
The  Primrose,  346. 
The  Rantin  Dog,  the  Daddie  o  't,  247. 
The  Reel  o'  Stumpie,  283. 
There  Came  a  Piper  out  o'  Fife,  372. 
There   Grows  a  Bonie   Brier-Bush   in   our 

Kail- Yard,  288. 
There  Lived  a  Carl  in  Kellyburn  Braes,  269. 
There  liv'd  a  Lass  in  Yonder  Dale,  370. 
There  '11  never  be  Peace  till  Jamie   comes 

Hame,  255. 
There 's  Auld  Rob  Morris  that  Wons  in  yon 

Glen,  300. 
There 's  a  Youth  in  this  City,  it  were  a  Great 

Pity,  243, 
There  's  Death  in  the  Cup,  so  Beware,  212. 
There 's  Naethin  like  the   Honest   Nappy, 

372. 
There  's  Nane  shall  Ken,  there  's  Nane  can 

Guess,  284. 
There  's  News,  Lasses,  News,  298. 
There  's  Nought  but  Care  on  ev'ry  Han',  88. 
There  's  Three  True  Guid  Fellows,  281. 
There   was   a   Bonie   Lass,   and   a   Bonie, 

Bonie  Lass,  297. 
There-was  a  Lad  was  Born  in  Kyle,  334. 
There  was  a  Lass,  and  She  was  Fair,  327. 
There  was  a  Lass,  They  Ca'd  her  Meg,  228. 
There  was  a  Wife  Wonn'd  in  Cockpen,  293. 
There  was  Five  Carlins  in  the  South,  178. 
There  was  on  a  Time,  but  Old  Time  was 

then  Young,  341. 
There  was  Three  Kings  into  the  East,  85. 
The  Rights  of  Woman,  167. 
The  Robin  to  the  Wren's  Nest,  358. 
The  Ronalds  of  the  Bennals,  189. 
The  Ruined  Maid's  Lament,  362. 
The  Selkirk  Grace,  370. 
The  Silver  Tassie,  241. 
The   Simple   Bard,   Rough   at   the    Rustic 

Plough,  68. 


The  Slave's  Lament,  271. 

The   Small    Birds    Rejoice    in    the    Green 

Leaves  Returning,  339. 
The  Smiling  Spring  comes  in  Rejoicing.  272. 
The  Solemn  League  and  Covenant,  212. 
The  Song  of  Death,  271. 
The  Sun  had  Clos'd  the  Winter  Day,  22, 
The  Sun  he  is  Sunk  in  the  West,  329, 
The  Tailor  Fell  thro'  the  Bed,  Thimble  an' 

a',  237. 
The  Tailor  he  Cam  here  to  Sew,  288. 
The  Tarbolton  Lasses,  188. 
The  Thames  Flows  Proudly  to  the  Sea,  252. 
The  Tither  Morn,  when  I  Forlorn,  260. 
The  Toadeater,  208. 
The  Tree  of  Liberty,  352. 
The  Twa  Dogs,  i. 
The  Twa  Herds,  117. 
The  Tyrant  Wife,  208. 
The  Vision,  22. 
The  Vowels,  355. 
The  Weary  Pund  o'  Toiv,  261, 
The  Whistle,  109. 
The  White  Cockade,  246. 
The  Wind  Blew  Hollow  frae  the  Hills,  97. 
The  Winter  it   is   Past,   and  the   Simmer 

comes  at  Last,  236. 
The  Winter  of  Life,  288. 
The  Wintry  West  Extends  his  Blast,  44. 
The  Wren's  Nest,  358. 
The  Young  Highland  Rover,  227. 
They  Snool  me  Sair,  and  Haud  me  Down, 

263. 
Thickest  Night,  Surround  my  Dwelling,  225. 
Thine  am  I,  my  Faithful  Fair,  316. 
Thine  be  the  Volumes,  Jessie  Fair,  163. 
This  Day  Time  Winds  th'  Exhausted  Chain, 

134- 
This  Wot  ye  All  whom  it  Concerns,  129. 
Tho'  Cruel  Fate  should  Bid  Us  Part,  225. 
Tho'  Fickle  Fortune  has  Deceived  Me,  332. 
Thomson,  On  some  Commemorations   of, 

197. 
Thou  Bed,  in  which  I  First  Began,  374. 
Thou  Flatt'ring  Mark  of  Friendship  Kind, 

191. 
Thou  Fool,  in  thy  Phaeton  Towering,  212. 
Thou  Gloomy  December,  291. 
Thou  hast  Left  Me  ever,  Jamie,  317. 
Thou,  Liberty,  thou  Art  my  Theme,  174, 
Thou  Ling'ring  Star,  with  Less'ning  Ray, 

247. 


440 


GENERAL  INDEX  OF  TITLES  AND   FIRST  LINES, 


Thou  of  an  Independent  Mind,  213. 
Thou  's  Welcome,  Wean !  Mishanter  Fa' 

Me,  123. 
Thou  whom  Chance  may  Hither  Lead,  91, 

131- 
Thou,  who  thy  Honour  as  thy  God  Rever'st, 

98. 
Tho'  Women's  Minds,  like  Winter  Winds, 

250. 
Through  and  Through  th'  Inspired  Leaves, 

205. 
Tibbie,  I  hae  Seen  the  Day,  O,  234. 
'T  is  Friendship's  Pledge,  my  Young,  Fair 

Friend,  163. 
To  a  Gentleman  who  had  Sent  a  Newspaper, 

159- 
To  a  Haggis,  Address,  830 
To  a  Kiss,  354. 
To  Alex.  Cunningham,  153. 
To  a  Louse,  51, 
To  a  Mountain  Daisy,  45. 
To  a  Mouse,  37. 
To  an  Artist,  205. 
To  an  Old  Sweetheart,  144. 
To  a  Young  Friend,  Epistle,  47. 
To  Clarinda  with  a  Pair  of  Wine-Glasses, 

152. 
To  Collector  Mitchell,  161. 
To  Colonel  De  Peyster,  162. 
To  Daunton  Me,  232. 
To  Davie,  a  Brother  Poet,  Epistle,  38. 

Second  Epistle,  140. 

To  Dr.  Blacklock,  158. 

To  Dr.  Mackenzie,  143. 

To  Dr.  Maxwell,  211. 

To  Edinburgh,  Address,  83. 

To  Gavin  Hamilton,  Esq.,  142. 

A  Dedication,  49. 

Extempore,  145. 

To  Hugh  Parker,  153. 

To  James  Smith,  Epistle,  17. 

To  James  Tennant  of  Glenconner,  156, 

To  J.  Lapraik,  Epistle,  138. 

,  Second  Epistle,  54. 

,  Third  Epistle,  138. 

To  John  Goldie,  137. 
To  John  Kennedy,  141. 

A  Farewell,  143. 

To  John  Maxwell,  Esq.,  of  Terraughtie,  160. 
To  John  M'Murdo,  157. 
To  John  Rankine,  136. 
■ Epistle,  59. 


To  John  Syme  of  Ryedale,  212. 

,  Apology,  213. 

To  Major  Logan,  147. 

To  Miss  Cruickshank,  104. 

To  Miss  J'errier,  151. 

To  Miss  Graham  of  Fintry,  161. 

To  Miss  Isabella  Macleod,  150. 

To  Miss  Jessie  Lewars,  163. 

To  Miss  Logan,  82. 

To  Mr.  MAdam  of  Craigen-Gillan,  142. 

To  Mr.  Renton  of  Lamerton,  150. 

To  Peter  Stuart,  160. 

To  Riddell,  Much-Lamented  Man,  213. 

To  Robert  Graham  of  Fintry,  Esq.,  95,  154. 

Sonnet,  158. 

To  Ruin,  46. 

To  Symon  Gray,  151. 

To  the  Beautiful  Miss  Eliza  J n,  211. 

To  the  Deil,  Address,  13. 

To  Thee,  Lov'd  Nith,  Thy  Gladsome  Plains, 

363- 
To  the  Guidwife  of  Wauchope  House,  148. 
To  the  Hon.  Wm.  R.  Maule  of  Panmure, 

212. 
To  the  Owl,  354. 

To  the  Right  Hon.  C.  J.  Fox,  Inscribed,  173. 
To  the  Rev.  John  M'Math,  139. 
To  the  Shade  of  Thomson,  Address,  103. 
To  the  Toothache,  Address,  129. 
To  the  Unco  Guid,  Address,  75. 
To  the  Weaver's  gin  ye  Go,  222. 
To  William  Simpson  of  Ochiltree,  56. 
To  William  Stewart,  161. 
To  Willie  Chalmers'  Sweetheart,  144. 
To  Wm.  Tytler,  Esq.,  of  Woodhouselee,  149. 
To  You,  Sir,  this  Summons  I  've  Sent,  145. 
Tragic  Fragment,  201. 
Trogger,  The,  186. 
True-hearted  was  He,  the  Sad  Swain  o'  the 

Yarrow,  305. 
Turn  again,  Thou  Fair  Eliza,  265. 
Turn-coat  Whigs  Awa,  Man,  180. 
Turner,  On  Andrew,  212. 
'Twas  Even  :  the  Dewy  Fields  were  Green, 

335- 
'Twas  in  that  Place  o'  Scotland's  Isle,  i. 

'Twas  in  the  Seventeen  Hunder  Year,  185, 
'T  was  na  her  Bonie  Blue  E'e,  346. 
'T  was  on  a  Monday  Morning,  279. 
Tytler,  Esq., of  Woodhouselee,  To  Wm.,  149. 
'T  was   Where  the   Birch    and   Sounding 
Thong  are  Ply'd,  354. 


GENERAL  INDEX  OF  TITLES   AND   FIRST   LINES. 


441 


Under  the  Portrait  of  Miss  Burns,  205. 
Up  in  the  Morning  Early,  226. 
Upon  a  Simmer  Sunday  Morn,  10. 
Upon  that  Night,  when  Fairies  Light,  28. 
Up  wi'  the  Carls  of  Dysart,  273. 

Verses  in  Friars  Carse  Hermitage,  131. 
Verses   Intended  to  be  Written  below  a 

Noble  Earl's  Picture,  192. 
Verses  on  Lincluden  Abbey,  373. 
Verses  to  My  Bed,  374. 
Verses  Written  Under  Violent  Grief,  364. 
Verses  Written  with  a  Pencil  at  Taymouth, 

107. 
Versicles  on  Sign-posts,  207. 
Versicles  to  Jessie  Lewars,  213, 

Wae  is  my  Heart  and  the  Tear  's  in  my  E'e, 

287. 
Wae  Worth  thy  Power,  thou  Cursed  Leaf, 

191. 
Wandering  Willie,  299. 
Wantonness  for  Evermair,  279. 
Wap  and  Rowe,  Wap  and  Rowe,  283, 
Was  e'er  Puir  Poet  sae  Befitted,  369. 
Washington's  Birthday,  Ode  for  General, 

175- 
Wastle,  Willie,  267. 

Wauchope  House,  To  the  Guidwife  of,  148. 
Weary  Fa'  You,  Duncan  Gray,  229. 
We  Cam  na  Here  to  View  your  Warks, 

206. 
Wee,  Modest,  Crimson-tipped  Flow'r,  45. 
Wee,    Sleekit,   Cowrin,  Tim'rous    Beastie, 

38. 
Wee  Willie  Gray  an'  his  Leather  Wallet, 

292. 
We  Grant  they  're  Thine,  those  Beauties  all, 

208. 
We  're  a'  Noddin,  292. 
Westerha',  Election  Ballad  for,  179. 
Wha  in  a  Brulyie,  287. 
Wha  is  That  at  my  Bower  Door,  259. 
Wham  will  we  Send  to  London  Town,  183. 
Whan  I  Sleep  I  Dream,  370. 
Whare  are  you  Gaun,  my  Bonie  Lass,  250. 
Whare  ha'e  ye  Been  sae  Braw,  Lad,  251. 
What  Ails  ye  now,  ye  Lousie  Bitch,  146= 
What  can  a  Young  Lassie,  256. 
What  dost  Thou  in  that  Mansion  Fair,  210. 
What  Man  could  Esteem,  or  what  Woman 

could  Love,  217. 


What  Needs  this  Din  about  the  Town  o' 

Lon'on,  166. 
What  will  I  Do  gin  my  Hoggie  Die,  226. 
Wha  will  Buy  my  Troggin,  186. 
When  Biting  Boreas,  Fell  and  Doure,  78. 
When  by  a  Generous  Public's  Kind  Acclaim, 

164. 
When  Chapman  Billies  Leave  the  Street,  99. 
When  Chill  November's  Surly  Blast,  43. 
When  Dear  Clarinda,  Matchless  Fair,  152. 
When  Death's  Dark  Stream  I  Ferry  o'er, 

206. 
When  Eighty-Five  was  Seven  Months  Auld, 

125. 
When  First  I  Began  for  to  Sigh  and  to  Woo 

Her,  374. 
When  First  I  Came  to  Stewart  Kyle,  334. 
When  First  I  Saw  Fair  Jeanie's  Face,  342. 
When  First  my  Brave  Johnie  Lad  Came  to 

the  Town,  254. 
When  Guilford  Good  our  Pilot  Stood,  86. 
When  I  Think  on  the  Happy  Days,  372. 
When  Januar'  Wind  was   Blawin  Cauld, 

282. 
When  Lascelles  Thought  fit  from  this  World 

to  Depart,  218. 
When  Lyart  Leaves  Bestrow  the  Yird,  iii. 
When  Morine,  Deceas'd,  to  the  Devil  went 

down,  210. 
When  Nature  her  Great  Masterpiece  De- 

sign'd,  154. 
When  o'er  the  Hill  the  Eastern  Star,  328. 
When  Pleasure  Fascinates,  358. 
When  Princes  and  Prelates,  357. 
When  Rosy  May  comes  in  wi'  Flowers,  239. 
When  she  Cam  Ben,  she  Bobbed,  262. 
When  the  Drums  do  Beat,  241. 
When  Wild  War's  Deadly  Blast  was  Blawn, 

301. 
Where  are  the  Joys  I  hae  Met  in  the  Morn- 
ing, 320. 
Where,  Braving  Angry  Winter's   Storms, 

234- 

Where  Cart  Rins  Rowin  to  the  Sea,  272. 

Wherefore  Sighing  art  Thou,  Phillis,  285. 

Whigham's  Inn,  Sanquhar,  At,  207. 

While  at  the  Stook  the  Shearers  Cow'r,  139. 

While     Briers     an'    Woodbines    Budding 
Green,  52, 

While   Europe's   Eye  is  Fix'd  on  Mighty 
I        Things,  167. 
1   While  Larks  with  Little  Wing,  345. 


442 


GENERAL   INDEX   OF  TITLES  AND   FIRST   LINES. 


While  New-ca'd  Kye  Rowte  at  the  Stake, 

54- 
While  Virgin  Spring  by  Eden's  Flood,  103. 

While  Winds  frae  aff  Ben  Lomond  Blaw, 

38. 

Whistle  an'  I  '11  Come  to  Ye,  my  Lad,  222.    . 

Whistle  o'er  the  Lave  o  't,  242. 

Whitefoord,  Bart.,  Lines  to  Sir  John,  98. 

Whoe'er  He  be  that  Sojourns  Here,  206. 

Whoe'er  Thou  art,  O  Reader,  Know,  63. 

Whoe'er  Thou  art;  these  Lines  now  read- 
ing, 361. 

Whose  is  that  Noble,  Dauntless  Brow,  193. 

Why  am  I  Loth  to  Leave  this  Earthly 
Scene,  80. 

Why  should  We  idly  Waste  our  Prime,  352. 

Why,  why  Tell  thy  Lover,  346. 

Why,  ye  Tenants  or  the  Lake,  107. 

Wi'  Braw  New  Branks,  in  Mickl-e  Pride, 
144. 

Willie  Brew'd  a  Peck  o'  Maut,  251. 

WiUie,  On  Holy,  215. 

Willie,  Rattlin,  Roarin,  234. 

Willie,  Wandering,  299, 

Willie  Wastle  Dwalt  on  Tweed,  268. 

Will  ye  Go  to  the  Hielands,  Leezie  Lind- 
say, 359- 

Will  ye  Go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary,  335. 

Wilt  Thou  be  my  Dearie,  286. 

Winter,  44. 

Wishfully  I  Look  and  Languish,  260. 

With  ^sop's  Lion,  Burns  Says  :  — '  Sore  I 
Feel,  206. 

With  Pegasus  upon  a  Day,  196. 

Woods,  Prologue  Spoken  by  Mr.,  164. 

Wow,  but  your  Letter  Made  me  Vauntie, 
158. 

Written  in  Friars  Carse  Hermitage,  91. 


Yarico,  On  Seeing  Mrs.  Kemble  in,  212. 

Year  1788,  Elegy  on  the  Departed,  132. 

Ye  Banks  and  Braes  and  Streams  around, 
3^7- 
.  Ye  Banks  and  Braes  o"  Bonie  Doon,  267. 
•  Ye  Flowery  Banks  o'  Bonie  Doon,  340. 

Ye  Gallants  Bright,  I  Rede  you  Right,  238. 

Ye  Hae  Lien  a'  Wrang,  Lassie,  372. 

Ye  Holy  Walls,  that,  still  Sublime,  373. 

Ye  Hypocrites,  are  these  your  Pranks,  360. 

Ye  Irish  Lords,  ye  Knights  an'  Squires,  7. 

Ye  Jacobites  by  Name,  266. 

Ye  Maggots,  feed  on  Nicol's  Brain,  217. 

Ye  Men  of  Wit  and  Wealth,  211. 

Ye  Sons  of  Old  Killie,  assembled  by  Willie, 

336. 
Yestreen  I  had  a  Pint  o'  Wine,  339, 
Yestreen  I  Met  You  on  the  Moor,  235. 
Ye  True  Loyal  Natives  attend  to  My  Song, 

209. 
Yon  Rosy  Brier,  320. 

Yon  Wandering  Rill  that  Marks  the  Hill,370. 
Yon  Wild  Mossy  Mountains,  257. 
Young  Friend,  Epistle  to  a,  47, 
Young"  Jamie,  Pride  of  a' the  Plain,  278. 
Young  Jessie,  305. 

Young  Jockie  was  the  Blythest  Lad,  249. 
Young  Peggy,  221. 
Your  Billet,  Sir,  I  grant  Receipt,  150. 
You  're  Welcome  to  Despots,  Dumourier 

197. 
You're  Welcome,  Willie  Stewart,  342. 
Your  Friendship  much  can  make  Me  Blest, 

347. 
Your  News  and  Review,  Sir,  156. 
Youth  in  this  City,  There  's  a,  243. 
Yowes  to  the  Knowes,  Ca'  the  (ist),  245. 
Yowes  to  the  Knowes,  Ca'  the  (2d) ,  322. 


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